


Tales from the Thrawn Campaign

by NobNesbit



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:15:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 52,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26290255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NobNesbit/pseuds/NobNesbit
Summary: 30 YEARS OF THRAWN! To celebrate the anniversary of Heir to the Empire and the release of Thrawn Ascendancy, I present: Tales from the Thrawn Campaign. In the vein of Shadows of the Empire and Clone Wars, Tales chronicles the missing month between Dark Force Rising and The Last Command, detailing the adventures of Luke, Han, and Leia as they scramble to stop Thrawn’s onslaught:The Katana battle is over. While Republic forces won the day, it is a hollow victory—the Empire has outraced them to the famous fleet, and the Dreadnaughts are now under Thrawn’s command. Worse yet, the battle’s aftermath revealed the lynchpin of his strategy for victory: clone soldiers, a limitless supply to man his new armada.On Coruscant, Leia attempts to shore up the Republic’s diplomatic front while awaiting the birth of her Jedi twins. Meanwhile, Luke and Han must undertake a series of dangerous missions behind enemy lines, hoping to slow Thrawn’s war machine. Their ultimate goal: discover the source of his clone army—and destroy it.Over it all like a shadow hangs the Dark Jedi C’baoth, self-declared Heir to the Empire, newly risen in power, and obsessed with claiming Leia’s twins for himself…to mold in his own insane image!
Relationships: Chewbacca & Leia Organa, Gilad Pellaeon & Thrawn | Mitth’raw’nuruodo, Leia Organa/Han Solo, R2-D2 & Luke Skywalker, Wedge Antilles & Leia Organa, Wedge Antilles & Wes Janson
Comments: 30
Kudos: 34





	1. Prelude - Heir to the Emperor

**Author's Note:**

> The Thrawn Trilogy was a transformative experience when I first read it in 1993. I particularly enjoyed those chapters that were presented as little side-adventures our heroes were having in the war against Thrawn (Luke on Poderis in The Last Command, Karrde and Mara on Rishi in Dark Force Rising) and was intrigued at the prospect of additional adventures we might not have seen. For a time long the idea was to write a sort of Shadows of the Empire for the Thrawn Trilogy, detailing what occurred during the missing month between Dark Force Rising and The Last Command; after Clone Wars premiered in 2008, the ambition was correspondingly modified as an episodic series of short stories. These Tales are what followed. They are cleaned up and edited from my original drafts ten years ago.
> 
> This opening chapter is in the Shadows of the Empire vein, presenting a different perspective on a scene from Dark Force Rising.
> 
> If you’d like to learn more about my writing, including a science fiction retelling of _The Hobbit,_ follow me on Twitter [@NobNesbit](https://twitter.com/nobnesbit) or check out my website: [http://nobnesbit.com](https://nobnesbit.com/)

_“Where do you suppose C’baoth found that_ Lancer _?” Pellaeon murmured as the guards helped the nav officer out of his seat and carried him aft._

_“He most likely hijacked it,” Thrawn said, his voice tight. “He’s been sending messages for us over distances of several light-years, and he certainly knows how to take control of people. Apparently, he’s learned how to meld the two abilities.”_

_Pellaeon looked down into the crew pit, a shiver running up his back. “I’m not sure I like that, sir.”_ — _DARK FORCE RISING_

* * *

In an isolated region known only as the Depot, the Imperial Star Destroyer _Chimaera_ glided silently.

Silently, but not alone. Visible off the _Chimaera_ ’s starboard side trailed the elongated shape of a _Lancer_ -class Frigate. Beyond the Lancer there were only the tiny pinpricks of a million stars, shining light-years in the distance. And beyond that, the blackness of deep space.

Captain Pellaeon made his way quickly down the corridor that connected the _Chimaera_ ’s bridge lift with Grand Admiral Thrawn’s personal command center. The hall was long and empty, and Pellaeon had only the echo of his own bootsteps for company. His left hand was clenched nervously; in his right he held tightly to a data pad. And on that data pad…

He finally came to a stop outside an otherwise unremarkable door. “Captain Pellaeon to see Grand Admiral Thrawn,” he announced.

The door slid open, revealing a dimly lit entry beyond, and Pellaeon took a cautious look inside. Somewhere in here, he knew, was Rukh, waiting to spring his usual game of cat-and-mouse.

But for once—thankfully—the Noghri bodyguard didn’t seem eager to play. “Captain Pellaeon,” Rukh hissed, his nightmarish face emerging from where he’d been half-hidden in the shadows. “The Grand Admiral is waiting. You may enter.”

“Thank you,” Pellaeon grumbled, slipping past Rukh into the command room proper. One of Thrawn’s first acts when he’d taken over the _Chimaera_ had been updating the suite with a series of special modifications, including a circle of holographic pedestals from which he could display his extensive collection of sculptures and alien artifacts. Today was no exception: Pellaeon counted at least a dozen pieces scattered throughout, most of a type and origin he didn’t recognize. What _was_ somewhat exceptional was the smattering of stars that also filled the room, decorating the walls like a planetarium.

As always, sitting silently in the middle of the double-display ring that took up most of the chamber, a pair of ysalamiri wrapped around the back of his chair, was Grand Admiral Thrawn.

His famously glowing eyes were closed in meditation, merest slits visible beneath the lids; but as Pellaeon entered they suddenly popped opened. “Ah—Captain Pellaeon,” he greeted. Probing red pupils focused on Pellaeon’s face for a moment, before dropping to the data pad he was still clutching in his hand. “The _Judicator_ report?”

Pellaeon swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Let me see it.” Thrawn held out an expectant hand.

Wordlessly Pellaeon passed him the data pad. Thrawn’s eyes skimmed over it… “Is this everything?” he asked, his voice suddenly hard.

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon repeated. “And we’ve received word from the hangar bay,” he added. “C’baoth’s shuttle landed ten minutes ago. The deck officer is bringing him here now.”

Thrawn nodded, reading the report again. It wasn’t good, Pellaeon knew: most of the _Judicator_ ’s starfighter complement destroyed, along with its entire contingent of drop ships. As for the _Peremptory_ —

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of some sort of commotion, audible from the other side of the anteroom door. Pellaeon turned just as the door slid open; and in marched the striding figure of Joruus C’baoth, his long white hair and old-fashioned robes streaming behind him. Pellaeon managed to catch a quick glimpse of Rukh, his nightmarish face looking decidedly unhappy, before the door slid shut again.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn!” C’baoth bellowed, sounding unnaturally loud beneath the domed ceiling. “I _must_ speak with you.”

Thrawn, for his part, hardly so much as glanced up from his data pad, let alone gave any indication he’d heard him. The Jedi Master looked briefly at Pellaeon, and Pellaeon saw the uncertainty and confusion in the old man’s eyes before he moved them back to Thrawn. “Grand Admiral—”

“I have here,” Thrawn interrupted at last, “the final update from the _Judicator_ on the _Katana_ battle. Would you care for me to read it to you?”

“Such matters are your concern,” C’baoth said, waving a hand dismissively. “What care should I have for them?”

“It says,” Thrawn continued, as if C’baoth hadn’t answered, “that the Star Destroyer _Peremptory_ was completely destroyed in the fighting, along with most of the ship’s fighter complement. So,” he said, his glowing eyes blazing with cold fire as he looked up from the _Judicator_ ’s report. “Thanks to your insistence on delaying me, we’ve lost the _Peremptory_. I trust you’re satisfied.”

C’baoth met the gaze evenly. “Don’t blame the incompetence of your would-be conquerors on me,” he said, his voice as icy as Thrawn’s. “Or perhaps it wasn’t incompetence, but the skill of the Rebellion. Perhaps it would be you lying dead now if the _Chimaera_ had gone instead.”

Thrawn’s face darkened. Pellaeon eased a half step closer to the Grand Admiral, moving a little farther into the protective sphere of the ysalamiri beside the command chair, and braced himself for the explosion.

But Thrawn had better control than that. “Why are you here?” he asked instead.

C’baoth smiled and turned deliberately away. “You’ve made many promises to me since you first arrived on Wayland, Grand Admiral Thrawn,” he said, pausing to peer at one of the hologram sculptures scattered around the room. “I’m here to make sure those promises are kept.”

“And how do you intend to do that?”

“By making certain that I’m too important to be, shall we say, conveniently forgotten,” C’baoth said. “I’m hereby informing you, therefore, that I will be returning to Wayland…and will be assuming command of your Mount Tantiss project.”

Pellaeon felt his throat tighten. “The Mount Tantiss project?” Thrawn asked evenly.

“Yes, C’baoth said, smiling again as his eyes flicked to Pellaeon. “Oh, I know about it, Captain. Despite your petty efforts to conceal the truth from me.”

“We wished to spare you unnecessary discomfort,” Thrawn assured him. “Unpleasant memories, for example, that the project might bring to mind.”

C’baoth studied him. “Perhaps you did,” he conceded with only a touch of sarcasm. “If that was truly your motive, I thank you. But the time for such things has passed. I have grown in power and ability since I left Wayland, Grand Admiral Thrawn. I no longer need you to care for my sensitivities.”

He drew himself up to his full height; and when he spoke again, his voice boomed and echoed throughout the room. “I am C’baoth; Jedi Master. The Force which binds the galaxy together is my servant.”

Slowly, Thrawn rose to his feet. “And you are my servant,” he said.

C’baoth shook his head. “Not anymore, Grand Admiral Thrawn. The circle has closed. The Jedi will rule again.”

“Take care, C’baoth,” Thrawn warned. “Posture all you wish. But never forget that even you are not indispensable to the Empire.”

C’baoth’s bushy eyebrows lifted…and the smile which creased his face sent an icy shiver through Pellaeon’s chest. It was the same smile he remembered from Wayland.

The smile that had first convinced him that C’baoth was indeed insane.

“On the contrary,” the Jedi Master said softly. “As of now, I am all that is _not_ indispensable to the Empire.”

He lifted his gaze to the stars displayed on the room’s walls. “Come,” he said. “Let us discuss the new arrangement of our Empire.”

Thrawn’s own gaze drifted to the stars as well. “And what arrangement would that be?” he asked carefully.

“Our final victory against the Rebellion,” C’baoth said, as if the answer were obvious. “The establishment of a new regime.”

“With you at its head, I presume?”

“I am a Jedi,” C’baoth reminded him. “Who better to take the Emperor’s place as ruler of the galaxy?”

“Who indeed?” Thrawn asked dryly, sharing a glance with Pellaeon. “You surprise me, Master C’baoth. When I first came to you, you told me you had no interest in conquest or ruling distant worlds. Perhaps your recent taste of power has changed your sensibilities?”

“Have a care, Grand Admiral,” C’baoth advised, some of the fire returning to his voice. “Do not presume to question my motives. Or is it that you seek to place yourself as ruler instead, once you have defeated the Rebellion?”

“My interest has never been in ruling worlds,” Thrawn said. “I have always been concerned with one thing only: the reestablishment of the Emperor’s New Order.”

“How very noble,” C’baoth snorted. “Yet perhaps when the moment comes you too shall find yourself unwilling to relinquish the power to which you have become accustomed.”

“Perhaps,” Thrawn allowed politely. “But you haven’t yet answered me. Why are you here?”

Pellaeon caught a flicker of impatience flash across C’baoth’s face. “I have already told you,” the Jedi Master said. “To assume command—”

“Yes, yes,” Thrawn interrupted. “But you misunderstand the question. Why are you _here,_ Master C’baoth? I thought we had agreed you would remain on Jomark, to await the arrival of Luke Skywalker. Did he not come to you, as you had claimed he would?”

“Oh, he came,” C’baoth assured him. The flicker was replaced by another smile, playing behind his beard. “He came, and he learned at my feet.”

“Did he?” Thrawn raised an eyebrow. “Then perhaps you can explain what he was doing on my ship not two weeks ago.”

“He was here, then? I suspected this was where he might be going. And yet,” his eyes darted behind Thrawn, to the salamander-like creatures clutching at their nutrient frames, “even here you were unable to detain him, not with all your precious ysalamiri. You continue to disappoint me, Grand Admiral Thrawn.”

“And you me,” Thrawn answered evenly. “I had assumed once Skywalker was in your hands you would have the power to keep him there. Clearly that assumption was mistaken.”

Pellaeon expected the comment to irritate C’baoth, or even anger him. But the Jedi Master continued smiling. “It was not by his own choice that Skywalker left. He was taken from me, by another also skilled in the Force. And she will suffer, for challenging the Jedi Master Joruus C’baoth. She will suffer greatly…and then she too shall serve at my feet.”

There it was, just for a moment: that flash Pellaeon had been expecting, the hint of rage and madness flaring again in C’baoth’s eyes. He suppressed another shiver. What manner of punishment, Pellaeon wondered, would someone like C’baoth come up with? “But that is for the future,” C’baoth continued. “For now I must attend to the more urgent matters of my Empire. You will therefore instruct your men to prepare a transport, and take me to Wayland.”

But Thrawn shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question.”

“I am a Jedi Master, Grand Admiral Thrawn,” C’baoth said darkly. “Do not presume to tell me where I may or may not go.”

“I presume nothing,” Thrawn countered.

“Then prepare the ship.” C’baoth raised a bushy eyebrow pointedly. “Or must I take one for myself?”

“You may do what you like,” Thrawn said. “But the Empire— _your_ Empire—needs your talents here. _Not_ on Wayland.”

“The Mount Tantiss project is the centerpiece of our campaign,” C’baoth insisted. But to Pellaeon’s ears he sounded almost…unsure? “What better place for me than there?”

“Mount Tantiss is the centerpiece,” Thrawn agreed, settling back down in his command chair. Clearly he’d noticed the uncertainty, too. “But it is only a piece. Now that we have the _Katana_ Dreadnaughts, the time has come to begin our true offensive. By this point the Rebels will have discovered the truth behind the clone troopers in the _Katana_ skirmish. Unveiling the strength of our most potent weapon should have the appropriate psychological effect on our enemies, until I am ready to launch my final campaign against them.”

“And when will that be?”

“When the time is right,” Thrawn said evasively, a small smile of his own touching his lips. For all C’baoth’s vaunted Jedi power, he still needed Thrawn’s tactical genius. And Thrawn knew it. “Patience, Master C’baoth. As you said before, such matters are my concern, not yours. In the meanwhile, I have already chosen a suitable place from which to launch it.”

He flicked a switch on his armrest, and the sculptures scattered around the room vanished. They were replaced by the three-dimensional hologram of a small planet, a mash of continent and ocean rotating slowly over the main display. C’baoth eyed it suspiciously. “What is this?” he asked.

“The planet Ukio,” Thrawn identified it. “One of the top five producers of foodstuffs in Rebel territory. This is to be our next target.”

“A world of farmers?” C’baoth scoffed. “This will be the launching point for your glorious campaign?”

“The Empire’s victory is dependent on the thousands of new Mount Tantiss clones at its command,” Thrawn explained. “With most of the _Katana_ fleet in our control, we now have the ships to arm them; once we take Ukio, we will also have the means to feed them.

“Nor should you underestimate the Ukian defenses. The Overliege has invested in considerable ground/space weaponry, and Ukio is within a few light-years of the Rebel starfighter bases at Ord Pardron and Filve.” He flicked another switch, and on the display a hazy red shell suddenly wrapped itself around the little hologram “But the greatest concern by far is the defensive shield that surrounds it. The shield is virtually impenetrable, protecting the planet from any space bombardment. That, Master C’baoth, is where you come in.”

“More attack coordination for your troops, I suppose?” C’baoth sighed. “I am a Jedi Master. I grow weary of simple parlor tricks.”

Thrawn smiled again, more openly this time. “As it happens, I have a more impressive demonstration in mind—one that makes rather better use of your particular talents.”

C’baoth frowned, but before he could ask for clarification Thrawn flicked his armchair switch again and the planet vanished. “However, to ensure the success of the Ukio operation, we will first need to conduct a series of tests. _That_ is the reason I need you here, not off communing on Wayland. After Ukio, of course, you will be free to travel wherever you like.”

C’baoth said nothing, his almost maniacal eyes staring into Thrawn’s red ones, and Pellaeon wondered if he was trying to read the Admiral’s thoughts. Not that there would be much point—not with the other seated safely within the protection of the ysalamiri. At least, Pellaeon hoped. “Very well,” C’baoth said at last, making it sound almost as if the idea were his own. “I will remain aboard the _Chimaera_. _For now._ I trust that is acceptable?”

“Most acceptable, Master C’baoth,” Thrawn agreed.

C’baoth studied him for another moment. “Then I shall go see to it that my chambers are properly prepared.” He gave Thrawn a rather stiff bow before slipping back through the anteroom door.

Pellaeon didn’t dare speak first in the silence that followed. “Has the _Chimaera_ ’s caretaker crew finished transferring to the Lancer?” Thrawn asked, his eyes still on the door through which C’baoth had departed.

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon said stiffly. “I’ve instructed them to reroute to Ord Trasi. They’ll wait for us there.”

“Good,” Thrawn said. “Inform them we’ll join up after rendezvousing with the _Stormhawk_.” He turned his chair, with eyes boring into Pellaeon’s. “No doubt you have something additional you wish to share,” he suggested.

Pellaeon swallowed. “I’d rather not say, Admiral.”

“Come now,” Thrawn chided. “Surely we’re long past the point where you need censure your comments to me.” He let out a sigh. “At any rate I suppose I can guess easily enough. You’ve never trusted our esteemed Jedi Master.”

“He’s becoming too dangerous,” Pellaeon insisted, pointing an urgent finger at the data pad still clutched in Thrawn’s hand. “Did you read sick bay’s report? Nausea, delirium—it’ll be at least a week before anyone in that Lancer crew is ready for combat duty. No, sir, C’baoth is becoming too dangerous, and too difficult to control…maybe even for you.”

“I don’t disagree,” Thrawn said mildly.

“Then with all due respect: why are we still catering to him?”

“In the short run? Because we have to. Master C’baoth is the lynchpin to the Ukio operation, and the Ukio operation is the lynchpin to our new campaign against the Rebellion. We’ll simply have to find a way to tolerate his _eccentricities_ a little bit longer.”

“And in the long run?” Pellaeon pushed.

“Ah. Yes, that’s a different matter entirely.” Those glowing red eyes burned fiercely. “In the long run there are contingencies, of course, many of which do not feature Master C’baoth at all. Despite his proclamations just now, he is hardly indispensable to the Empire—at least, not the Empire I shall lead. If his eccentricities start to outweigh his value…well, there are contingencies for that, too.”


	2. Duros Delegation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Grand Admiral Thrawn begins preparations for his final campaign, Leia leads an effort on Coruscant to shore up the New Republic's political front and secure relations with key allies. But not even the heart of the Republic capital is safe from Thrawn's reach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’d like to learn more about my writing, including a science fiction retelling of The Hobbit, follow me on Twitter [@NobNesbit](https://twitter.com/nobnesbit) or check out my website: [http://nobnesbit.com.](http://nobnesbit.com)

_“I’d love to,” Han said. “The question is whether she’ll be any safer on Coruscant than she is here.”_

_There was a long moment of silence, and Han could imagine Ackbar’s huge eyes swiveling in their sockets. “I’m not sure I appreciate the tone of that question, Captain.”_

_“I don’t much like it either, Admiral,” Han told him. “But face it: if the Imperials are getting information_ out _of the Palace, they might just as easily be able to get their agents_ in. _”_ — _HEIR TO THE EMPIRE_

* * *

It was a tired and more than a little scruffy Han Solo that finally stumbled through the front door of the Palace suite he shared with Leia and Winter. “Captain Solo!” the latter exclaimed, looking up from where she was seated in the main living area, before he’d even made it past the entryway. “There you are—we expected you back some time ago. Where have you been?”

“The war room,” Han told her, slumping into a nearby chair. “Three hours going over battle responses with Ackbar and Madine. Almost makes me miss the simple days when I was just getting shot at by Hutts.” He cast a look around the suite. “Where’s Leia?”

“She went looking for _you_ ,” Winter said, assuming a tone not unlike the kind Leia sometimes took with him, whenever she thought he’d done something wrong. “The two of you are supposed to be attending the reception for the Duros delegation tonight.”

The reception. He’d completely forgotten. “I must have lost track of time,” he admitted, suppressing a groan. He was _really_ going to be in it when Leia got back. “How long do I have?”

“The receptions starts in fifteen minutes,” Winter looked him up and down, “and I don’t think you can attend looking like _that_. If you hurry you may be able to get ready before the Princess returns.”

Even as she said it the main door to the suite slid open again, and this time it was Leia who came marching through. “A little late for that,” she warned, crossing her arms. She certainly looked ready for a party: her hair had been done up in elaborate plaitlets, and a flowing white ballgown was draped across her shoulders, capped with a silver shouldersculp clasped along the left. Even eight-months bulging pregnant, she looked beautiful. “And where _have_ youbeen, Han? I’ve sent Threepio looking all over the Palace for you.”

So there was a plus side to this, after all. “I was down in the war room,” Han repeated, enjoying the thought of Goldenrod wasting even five minutes of his precious time. “We were going over the response plan for the Farrfin system.”

“That was supposed to end an hour ago,” Leia pointed out.

“It went a little over,” Han conceded. He hesitated; but Leia was going to find out, anyway. “And afterwards it’s _possible_ I may have stopped by to give Chewie a hand with the _Falcon_.”

“Han…!” Leia took a breath. “Han, I don’t think I need to tell you how important this reception is. The Duros’ commercial network is central to the New Republic infrastructure; and ever since Grand Admiral Thrawn started unveiling his clones, several of its members have grown skittish. We can’t afford to lose them as an ally right now.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Han said, taking her hand in his. “And I’m sorry. I just lost track of time. Honestly.”

“All right,” Leia finally smiled. She gave him a pat on the cheek. “Then you’d better get moving. Winter’s right: you can’t attend looking like that. Go grab a quick shower and get dressed. I had Winter lay out your clothes on the bed.”

With only a half-hearted grumble Han got up and headed for their bedroom/bathroom ensuite. It took him less than ten minutes to get completely washed and cleaned up, and just a little extra to put his dress clothes on and fastened. One last look to ensure everything was in its proper place, and then he was ready to go.

Leia and Winter were waiting for him when he emerged from the bedroom. “Finally,” Leia said, setting down the data pad she’d been reading. Han fought back the urge to ask how long it’d taken _her_ to get ready. He’d probably lose that battle, anyway. “You look good, at least,” she complimented, going over with a critical eye.

“I look ridiculous,” he argued, tugging at the high collar of his dress jacket. “I look like a Kowakian monkey-lizard.”

“You look like a diplomat,” Leia corrected, her eyes still giving him that once-over. They stopped at his hip. “Han,” she chided, “you can’t take your gun belt to a diplomatic reception.”

Han’s own eyes dropped to his holster, and the blaster he had slung there. To be honest he hadn’t even realized he’d put it on. “Why not?” he challenged. “If Luke were here, he’d probably be wearing his lightsaber.”

“That’s completely different—the lightsaber is part of the Jedi uniform. Besides,” she raised a polite eyebrow. “We’re going to be in the middle of the Imperial Palace. What are you going to need a blaster for?”

“You never know,” Han pointed out. Leia crossed her arms again... “All right, all right,” he sighed, disappearing back into the bedroom. He returned a moment later. “Happy?” he grumbled, displaying his blaster-free hip.

“Aren’t I always?” Leia said, standing up. She looked every bit the piece of Alderaanian royalty she was. “Winter, no need to wait up for us tonight.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Winter said, though Han was pretty sure she would anyway.

Leia had stepped over to Han and offered her arm. “Captain Solo?” she asked playfully. “Shall we go?”

* * *

Even with Han’s delay they arrived at the reception only thirty minutes after the thing had started. “Fashionably late,” Han observed, steering Leia among the crowd of gussied partygoers that were already lining the Palace’s Grand Corridor.

“I prefer to be fashionably on time,” Leia muttered back, as she sent a warm smile toward a done-up Aqualish couple. “Look, there’s Garm.”

There he was, all right, standing over by one of the many ch’hala trees that lined the Corridor like green soldiers—and looking every bit as primped and foolish as Han felt. “General Bel Iblis,” Leia greeted formally, giving him a bow. “It’s good to see you. You look wonderful.”

“Leia; Solo,” Bel Iblis returned politely. He at least didn’t seem to mind playing dress-up. “We were beginning to get concerned you weren’t going to make it.”

“Just a little mix-up about the time,” Leia assured him, giving Han’s hand a warning squeeze. “Who is ‘we,’ anyway?”

“Just Admiral Ackbar and myself,” Bel Iblis said, waving a hand. “He’s around here somewhere. We were just discussing your husband’s suggestions for the Farrfin system, as it happens.”

“Yeah?” Han asked, feeling his ears perk. After the past three hours Farrfin was about the last thing he wanted to talk about right now; but anything was better than this diplomat stuff. “What about it?”

“Han,” Leia interjected, “this really isn’t the place for that kind of conversation. Did you say Admiral Ackbar was just here, Garm?”

“That’s right,” Bel Iblis said, poking his head around the room. “I think Mon Mothma dragged him off to speak to—yes, there he is with Ambassador Lansu.”

Han had spotted him too, standing out among the partygoers like a sore thumb in his usual Admiral’s white; and seemingly deep in conversation with some bulbous-eyed Duro wearing a ridiculous half-cape. “I should go speak with them,” Leia said, turning for a moment on Han. “You stay here. And try not to get in any trouble,” she instructed, before moving through the crowd towards Ackbar.

“Hey, it’s me,” Han muttered, fighting the sudden sense of abandonment. It was one thing to drag him to these boring receptions in the first place; but to leave him by himself was something else entirely.

Well, not exactly by himself. “Leia’s good,” Bel Iblis observed, taking a sip from the glass in his hand.

“Yeah, well, don’t let the façade fool you,” Han advised. “Leia hates this stuff every bit as much as you and me. She’s just better at hiding it, that’s all.” He moved a little closer to the General. “So were you and Ackbar _really_ talking about Farrfin?”

Bel Iblis cast another look around. “Leia’s right, this isn’t the place for that,” he said, absentmindedly brushing a hand against the trunk of a nearby ch’hala. A quick burst of red flashed where his hand had touched, before returning to its usual purple. “Stop by my room after the reception.”

“Sure thing,” Han nodded, before Bel Iblis finished his drink and disappeared off into the crowd. A SE4 servant droid suddenly appeared offering Han a glass of his own, and he took it gratefully. Looking around himself Han could see Leia hadn’t been joking: quite a prestigious group of bigwigs had been assembled for this reception, Mon Mothma pulling out all the stops. In one corner he spotted Councilor Sian Tevv, bubbling away with the rest of the Sullustan contingent; further back, a circle of Bothans including that fancy family neckpiece that meant Tav Breil’lya (Fey’lya himself was conspicuously absent); while on their other side Han noticed Admiral Drayson and the other Fleet commanders, caught up in some pleasantry with another pack of Duros. And it wasn’t just the dignitaries—scattered among the delegates was the occasional tan of a Palace security guard, watching over everything. Luckily they all seemed to be giving Han a respectable amount of room at the moment.

Dimly he wished Luke were here, or Chewbacca.

Eventually the gentle sound of a gong filled the Grand Corridor, and everyone began shuffling into the adjoining banquet hall for the dinner portion. “Han?” Leia called out, from where she was drifting among the crowd. “Come here a moment, could you?”

Han put on a forced smile as he pushed his way through the herd. When he finally reached her he was a little annoyed to discover that Ambassador Lansu character standing along beside, and positively beaming at his approach. “Han, I don’t think you’ve met the Ambassador yet,” Leia noted, sending him a careful look. Not that Han needed it; just because he didn’t usually play nice didn’t mean he didn’t know how. “Ambassador Lansu, this is my husband, Han Solo.”

[[Ah, yes—Captain Solo,]] Lansu burbled, giving Han a bow. [[I of course have heard so much about you. It is a pleasure meeting you at last.]]

“Likewise, Ambassador,” Han replied, wishing it were true. He looked for something to say. “How are you liking Coruscant?” he tried, and immediately felt stupid.

But Lansu knew how to play along. [[It is very pleasant,]] he assured. [[I was here once, years ago during the time of the Emperor. It has been much improved since then. I was hoping to tour the Manarai Mountains, before I left…but alas! Official matters have detained me thus far.]]

“You should try and make it out anyway,” Han urged, acutely aware of Leia hovering beside him. His performance was being rated, he knew. “They can be real nice this time of year.”

[[Perhaps on my next visit—assuming this business with the Empire is settled by then. Things are not looking maybe so well for the Republic these days, do you think?]]

Han fought back a sudden irritation. “I think we’re doing okay for ourselves,” he said, with all the politeness he could muster. “We’ve still got half the galaxy under our control, and even managed to beat Thrawn at his game a time or two.”

“Han,” Leia chided softly, “I thought I told you to hold off on any of this military talk tonight. You’ll have to forgive my husband, Ambassador,” she added to Lansu, “he sometimes forgets what's an appropriate topic for a reception.”

[[But of course,]] Lansu dismissed the apology with a wave. [[Captain Solo is a warrior. Such things are admired in my culture.]]

“Thanks,” Han said, behind more polite smiling.

He was saved by another ring of the gong. Leia excused them from Lansu and started steering Han into the banquet hall. “Thank you,” she murmured, once the Ambassador was out of earshot. “I know how hard that was for you.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart,” Han said, glancing over his shoulder. Lansu had moved on to someone in a major’s uniform and was already talking his ear off. “Just do me a favor and keep me away from that guy for the rest of the night, okay? I’m not sure I can keep my mouth shut that long a second time.”

Out of the corner of his eye he was sure he caught Leia grinning. “Deal.”

They’d been assigned a table near the center of the room, at a spot adjacent to the Ambassador’s own where most of the Inner Council would be seated. As they approached Han noticed that both Ackbar and Bel Iblis had already taken their chairs, waiting patiently for the rest of them next to a couple of empty plates. “Hey, Admiral,” Han greeted, plopping down in the seat beside. “I was hoping we could go at least a couple hours without seeing each other, yeah?”

“There are some things more important even than the war, Captain Solo,” Ackbar nodded, his salmon-colored head bobbing up-and-down. “Or so I have been told. Isn’t that right, Councilor?”

“Leia and I have already had this conversation,” Han said before Leia could answer. “Needless to say, she won.”

“As I always do,” Leia confirmed, sitting down next to Han. “Has anyone seen Mon Mothma come in yet?”

“Not yet,” Bel Iblis said, from where he was placed on Ackbar’s other side. “To be honest, I thought I spotted her slipping away with one of the Ambassador’s attachés just before the dinner bell—probably hoping she can enlist his help to secure the Duros’ support.” He was interrupted from elaborating further by the shadow of a young aide, stepping over to confer with him. Bel Iblis leaned in listening while the aide whispered something into his ear, and then— “I’m sorry, I have a call waiting. If you’ll excuse me?”

He got up and started moving back towards the entrance. “Must be important,” Han noted, undoing his napkin and dropping it on his lap.

“Yes,” Ackbar said, his round eyes swiveling to follow Bel Iblis out the door. Wishing he could go with him, most likely—Han had always suspected the Admiral hated this dignitary stuff even more than Han did. One of the reasons Fey’lya had had such an easy time turning the Council against him in the first place. “Incidentally,” Ackbar said, his eyes swiveling back on Han, as if somehow reading his mind, “I realized that I never properly thanked you. For your support during my…recent troubles. You and the Councilor both.”

“Don’t mention it,” Han said, brushing the comment aside, “you would have done the same for us. Anyway I’m not sure we helped all that much in the end. It was mostly that kid Ghent who did the real work—Bel Iblis said it was something like a record how fast he decrypted that bank deposit thing”

“Of course,” Ackbar agreed quickly. Any mention of Karrde and his crew—or the smuggling community generally, really—had always been a bit of a nonstarter with Ackbar. Which probably made the fact that he owed his freedom to one of them that much harder. “Nevertheless I wish to thank you too. If not for your efforts I fear Councilor Fey’lya’s accusations might still be hanging over me.”

“Like I said, don’t mention it,” Han looked away…and suddenly frowned. Was it his imagination; or did those two guards near the entrance look a little old for Palace Security?

“We’re just glad we could help,” Leia told Ackbar, and then something else Han barely heard. _Yes,_ he decided, they were _definitely_ too old to be doing regular guard duty. Had Colonel Bremen pulled a special shift for the reception?

“Is there a problem?” Ackbar inquired into his thoughts.

Han turned back toward the table, to discover both Leia and Ackbar staring at him. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “Either of you recognize those two guards standing by the door?”

They each craned their necks peering over the crowd. “No,” Leia shook his head, “but that doesn’t mean anything, does it? There must be dozens of people working Palace Security who I wouldn’t recognize.”

“Right,” Han conceded, checking the rest of the banquet hall anyway. It wasn’t just the two at the door, he realized now. He counted at least ten more around the room, including one with a lieutenant’s insignia sewn on his chest—all of them looking far older than the kids Han was used to seeing—

“Uh-oh,” he said. He caught the lieutenant suddenly signal to the others with some sort of hand gesture…and as one they all detached themselves from their positions along the perimeter and started purposefully towards the tables in the room’s center. “I think we’ve got trouble.”

“What is it?” Ackbar pressed.

But Han never got a chance to say. Just at that moment the lieutenant pulled out his blaster, lifted it toward the ceiling, and fired.

The shot rang out across the room, echoing awfully in the enclosed acoustics of the banquet hall. The general noise and background conversation came to an abrupt halt, replaced by a confused and astonished silence. Every face in the room twisted toward the lieutenant. By now he had reached the main circle where Ambassador Lansu and his delegation sat.

One of the Duros stood up angrily as the lieutenant jumped onto their table. [[What is the meaning of this?]] he demanded, his bulbous red eyes narrowing. [[What do you think you are do—]]

The rest of his comment was cut off as the lieutenant lowered his blaster and fired again. The unlucky Duros took the blast full in the chest, collapsing to the floor and quivering on the carpet. A blackened hole was visible smoking out of his torso.

This was too much for the rest of the crowd. That previously stunned silence was replaced by sudden pandemonium, the room erupting into shrieking panic— “Nobody move!” the lieutenant shouted over it, while the other guards drew out their own blasters. He gestured at two of them. “Tiers, Meritt: the door.”

Han glanced back at the entrance. The hall doors had already been closed shut: a couple of ornate-looking things, cut from imported Fijisi wood from the forests of Cardooine. Certainly chosen more for their look and style, than any sort of efficacy as an actual barricade; Han doubted they’d hold up long against even a half-determined hand blaster. But the Emperor hadn’t been quite so lackadaisical when he’d designed the Palace. Even as Han turned, he saw the two closest guards raise up their blasters, and two bolts lanced out in quick succession. A pair of deep, gouging holes appeared in the dark wood; a half-beat later, and the much heavier metal of the Palace security door was slamming into place over them, from where it had been hidden behind the jamb.

Sealing Han and everyone else inside.

“All right!” the man with the lieutenant’s insignia called from the tabletop, brandishing his blaster. “Now I want all of you to keep quiet and listen carefully. Just do what we say and no one else has to get shot!”

Han felt someone grabbing at his shirt. “Han!” Leia hissed in his ear, her nails digging into his arm. “What’s going on?”

“Stay quiet, sweetheart,” he said, his eyes tracking the rest of the security guards scattering across the room. “Just sit still and let’s not draw too much attention to ourselves, okay?”

“We should do as Captain Solo instructs, Your Highness,” Ackbar urged.

“But why?” Leia pressed. “What’s happening?”

“What’s it look like?” Han muttered. His shoulders slumped in sudden exhaustion. “It’s a hostage situation.”

* * *

Bel Iblis had finished his call, and was just signing off from one of the comm stations lined outside the Grand Corridor, when he heard it: the echo of blaster shots, coming somewhere down the hallway distant. He was out of his seat in seconds, sprinting down the Corridor while his hands instinctively reached at his side for the blaster that wasn’t there. Silently he cursed himself; if there was a firefight going on, it’d be nice to be bringing a firearm to it. But there wasn’t much he could do about that now.

Fortunately it didn’t look like he’d be needing his blaster just yet. Bel Iblis finally reached the main Corridor and checked around the corner, to discover that the entry into the banquet hall had been inexplicably sealed shut—a large metal security door was locked in place over it. Beneath it a motley collection of Palace guards had gathered outside, banging on the front with their blasters. “Colonel Bremen,” Bel Iblis addressed the man clad in the bulky uniform of Head of Palace Security. “What’s going on?”

“General Bel Iblis,” Bremen grunted without turning. His attention was on one of the men examining the controls to the locking mechanism. “I thought you were supposed to be attending this reception.”

“I had to step out for a minute,” Bel Iblis said. He tried again: “What’s going on here?”

“We’re not completely sure at this point,” Bremen admitted, leaning over the guard’s shoulder. “Any luck, Lieutenant?”

“No, sir,” the man sighed, throwing up his hands in defeat. “I can’t get this thing open. It’s not even recognizing the override codes.”

Bel Iblis thought he heard Bremen curse something under his breath. “All right,” he said, standing back up. “Let’s get two men down to the armory immediately; I’m pretty sure we’ve got an E-Web repeating blaster down there somewhere that could make a dent in this thing. And have maintenance send up an R2 unit in the meantime—maybe it can do something about those overrides.”

The lieutenant saluted and got to work. “Someone pulled a blaster in the banquet hall,” Bremen explained to Bel Iblis, finally offering his attention. “Our information is sketchy, but it appears at least one of the Duros officials was hit. A couple of my men tried to get in, but the assailants were able to activate the emergency lockdown before they could make it.”

“What about the guards who are already inside?” Bel Iblis asked. “Have you heard anything from them?”

“That’s the thing,” Bremen coughed. “Our information indicates the assailants _were_ Palace Security.”

Bel Iblis felt his jaw drop. “ _Palace Security_ fired on the Duros?”

“Like I said, the information’s sketchy,” Bremen answered quickly. “We don’t have any real idea what’s happening in there yet. But one thing’s for sure: whoever those guys are, they’re definitely _not_ Palace Security. About five minutes ago we found the men who were scheduled to be covering tonight’s detail, dumped in a storage closet.”

Bel Iblis nodded dumbly. That explained that part, at least. How exactly they were able to get into the Palace in the first place was another question entirely.

And one that would have to wait. “So what’s your plan, Colonel?”

“You heard me send Lieutenant Kendy down to the armory,” Bremen pointed out, turning away again. “Let’s hope he gets back here before they start shooting more hostages.”

 _Hostages_. And Leia and Solo were among them. “And if he doesn‘t?” Bel Iblis asked softly.

But Bremen didn’t have an answer to that one.

* * *

“Everybody listen up!” the lieutenant continued, waving for attention. “This will go a lot smoother if you all just sit there and don’t get any sudden delusions of grandeur.”

Not that this crowd needed the extra warning. Even with her rather rudimentary skills in the Force, Leia could sense the ripples of fear that were vibrating across the crowd. Fear, and confusion, and a pervasive apprehension: practically radiating from every single person in the room.

Well, not quite _every_ person. “We cannot simply sit here,” Ackbar hissed. Their captors—whoever they were—had been circling the tables for several minutes now, searching the crowd for troublemakers. All of them with those blasters still out, and all of them looking like they were ready to use them. “We must do something, before they can hurt more hostages.”

“I’m not sure there’s anything we _can_ do, Admiral” Leia whispered back. “I can see at least twelve of them, and they’re all armed. I think our best course is to wait for Colonel Bremen’s team to handle this.”

“Afraid that won’t work, sweetheart,” Han warned glumly. “Whoever our friends here are, they were clearly good enough to sneak into the Palace and infiltrate past Security. They’ll see whatever Bremen’s got throwing at them from a mile away.”

“All right. Then what do you suggest?”

“Councilor Organa Solo is a Jedi, is she not?” Ackbar said. “Surely there is something she can do.”

“I’m more of a Jedi-in-training,” Leia clarified, wishing not for the first time that she had dedicated more effort to her studies. “I wouldn’t trust my abilities in a situation like this, not when there are hostages involved.”

“We’re not hostages,” Han interrupted.

Leia balked. “What do you mean, _we’re not hostages?_ ” she demanded. “You just said—”

“I know what I said,” Han shot back, a little testily. “Think about it: anybody with a brain cell knows better than to try and take on an entire reception in the middle of the Imperial Palace, not if they expect to get out alive. Besides, when you take hostages, you usually have demands. You see anyone making demands yet?”

Han had a point. “Okay,” she conceded, “so we’re not hostages. What are we, then?”

Han indicated the nearest guard. “Take a look.”

Leia did just that. He was an older-looking man, between maybe thirty- and forty-five; Han was right, certainly older than the usual twenty-somethings Bremen had staffing the frontline posts. He was clad in the standard tan uniform, including a light security vest and standard-issue DH-17 blaster pistol. And on his belt…

Leia choked back a gasp. On his belt was a thermal detonator.

“No,” she whispered, feeling her heart plummet in her chest. Her hands dropped instinctively to protect the swell of her pregnant belly. “They can’t be serious.”

“Oh, they’re serious, all right. Like I said, our pals here don’t plan on getting out—not alive, anyway. My guess is they’ll wait just long enough for Bremen and his team to get into position, maybe round up a nice big crowd outside: and then blow this whole place back to the Old Republic. We’re not hostages, sweetheart; we’re collateral damage.”

Leia swallowed, doing another scan of the room. It wasn’t just the guard by the door, she realized now; all of them had thermal detonators sitting on their waists. “Then we really _must_ do something,” Ackbar insisted. “Now, before they have the opportunity to arm themselves.”

“Don’t worry, Admiral,” Han assured the other, “I’ve got a plan. There’s a hold-out blaster hidden in my right boot—”

“Han!” Leia exclaimed despite herself. “I thought I told you not to—”

“You can lecture me later,” Han cut her off. “If you two can provide a distraction, there’s a good chance I can take out most of them before they get the detonators off.”

“ _Most_ of them?” Leia shook her head. “Han…”

“I will do it,” Ackbar said quickly. “Councilor Organa Solo is pregnant and should not be put in danger.”

“Actually, Admiral, I sort of had Leia in mind for this one.” He turned on her intently. “You remember back on Bimmisaari, when we encountered those Noghri pals of yours in the market?”

She remembered, all right. “What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing fancy; just enough to keep them off me for a few seconds.” He had started moving casually into a better firing position. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Got it,” Leia said, and then frowned. “If we’re going to make a move,” she added, “we’d better hurry. I can sense Colonel Bremen and his men outside, moving into their final positions.”

Han nodded. “You’re still in this too, Admiral,” he told Ackbar. “Once Leia gives us her distraction, I’m going to need to you take out that guard behind us. You think you’re up to it?”

“Absolutely, Captain,” came the prompt response.

“Great,” Han said; and Leia could detect the sudden determination in his emotions. “Then you’re up, sweetheart. Wait till this guy finishes his pass, and make your move.”

Leia had already been searching for a suitable target. She found a likely candidate ten meters away: an empty table on the outer edge, close enough to draw attention but isolated enough that no one should get hurt in the crossfire. She tried running through some of the Force exercises Luke had taught her, slowing her breath and calming her mind; and suddenly became extremely, acutely aware of the two little lives currently growing in her belly, the pair of distinct minds developing within. Over her shoulder she sensed more than heard the muffled steps of the nearest guard as he wandered behind them, passing by on his rounds. Just a couple more feet…

“ _Now,_ ” Han muttered.

She reached out with the Force, and with all her strength and focus gave the table a hard _push_. At first nothing seemed to happen—clearly Leia needed to be spending a _lot_ more time on her Jedi studies. (When she’d tried a Force trick that first time, on Bimmisaari, she’d had a similar struggle; though she’d hoped her recent efforts had indicated some improvement.) And then: one of the chairs quivered, and tipped over, and was suddenly crashing against the table with a clatter and a bang; and for a handful of seconds every face in the room was turned towards it.

They were seconds Han didn’t waste. Instantly he was reaching down into his right boot, and came up firing with a tiny hold-out blaster gripped tightly in his hand. He had four of the guards down before any of them even realized what was happening, and caught another two as they started scrambling for cover. At his side Ackbar had suddenly risen up himself, rumbling with the kind of roar Leia hadn’t imagined a Mon Calamari capable of making; and was charging the guard behind them, his arms spread and his large webbed hands outstretched. The man hesitated for a moment, as he shifted his aim from Han to Ackbar—and then Ackbar was crashing down on top of him, wrestling to the floor.

By this time Han had managed to hit another guard in the right shoulder; but he’d also lost the element of surprise, and from where she was crouching half-hidden behind their table Leia could feel the heat as four tracking shots began converging on their position. Through the smoke and criss-crossing bolts she spotted one of the guards stationed by the door, reaching a hand to his belt… “Han!” Leia exclaimed, grabbing his shoulder.

Even as she said it, even as the man placed his hand down upon the thermal detonator nestled there, there was a _thunk_ like a heavy thud—the sound of an E-web repeating blaster, firing from the door’s other side—and suddenly that imposing metal was bursting apart into shards and shrapnel. Headfirst through its haze charged a dozen _real_ security guards, with Colonel Bremen in their lead: their weapons were out and searching, and barely had the man spun towards them before he went tumbling down in a torrent of blaster-fire. He was joined a couple seconds later by two of his companions, crouching in the back; a second after that by the lieutenant himself, thanks to a well-placed shot from Han’s hold-out blaster.

And then, just like that, it was over.

* * *

“The medics say he’s going to be all right,” Leia reported, joining the little group that had congregated outside the remains of the banquet hall. Further down the Corridor Han could see the group of Palace medtechs that were currently attending the injured Duros, his lanky form already laid out on one of their repulsorlift sleds. Clustered around _them_ , his hovering reminding Han of a nervous mother mynock, was Ambassador Lansu. “He took the shot pretty bad, but the technician I spoke to is confident that if they can get him into a bacta tank within the next half-hour, he should make it.”

“Terrific,” Han said. “Anyone else get injured?”

“A couple bruises here and there,” Leia told him. “Nothing to be concerned about. Everyone did a pretty good job staying low once the firefight started. All in all I’d say we were lucky.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Ackbar spoke up. “If not for Captain Solo’s initiative we might all be dead now. We owe him our sincere gratitude.”

“We were still lucky,” Han said, taking another glance over Leia’s shoulder. The medics were starting to move the sled down toward the medical wing, he saw. With nothing left to hover behind, Lansu had decided to separate himself from the group for the time being, and was heading back in their direction.

Bel Iblis had noticed, too. “Apparently we aren’t the only ones who appreciated your handiwork, Solo,” he muttered.

“Yeah, well, I could always use more fans around here,” Han muttered back. He gave Lansu a friendly nod as the other approached. “Hello, Ambassador.”

[[Captain Solo—Gentlemen, Councilor,]] Lansu nodded back at each in turn. Then he suddenly reached out and took Han by the hand. [[Pardon me, Captain,]] he said, [[I must thank you for your efforts tonight. If not for you, Mishu would be dead. As would we all,]] he admitted. [[Truly you are worthy of your reputation.]]

“Don’t mention it,” Han said, brushing the compliment aside. Mishu’s life hadn’t really been the one he’d been most concerned about, anyway.

[[I am forever in your debt,]] Lansu went on. [[Yours and the Councilor’s both. Mishu has been in my service for more years than I can recollect. If ever you are in the Duro system, we would be honored to make you our distinguished guests.]]

“That sounds great,” Han said, trying to get his hand back. “We’ll be sure to check it out.”

He was spared further comment by a voice coming up behind them. “Ambassador?” someone called out, and Han discovered Colonel Bremen marching down the Corridor. “Ambassador, the medics are readying your assistant for the bacta tank now. If you’d care to join them?”

[[Of course,]] Lansu said, releasing his grip. [[Thank you again, Captain. May the Force be with you.]]

He gave Ackbar and Bel Iblis a final farewell before allowing himself to be escorted away by Bremen. “I should go with him” Leia said, almost apologetically.

“It’s okay,” Han assured her, giving a smile. “Go.”

She returned the same, and then was scurrying after Lansu. “All right,” Bel Iblis cleared his throat. “Now. Can one of you explain to me what exactly went on in there?”

“It’s like we told Bremen,” Han said, taking a quick look around. But other than those annoyingly cheerful ch’hala trees, they appeared to be alone in the Grand Corridor. “One of the guys dressed up like Palace Security pulled out a blaster and started shooting, with a couple buddies running support. Ackbar and I decided to take them out before they could do any more damage. That’s pretty much it.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” Bel Iblis clarified. “I’m more interested in who they were, and just what they were trying to accomplish. Any ideas?”

Han shrugged. “We didn’t exactly get that far,” he admitted. “As for who they were….we’ll have to wait and see what Bremen’s people get out of the one Ackbar knocked out. But in the meantime I think it’s safe to assume we’re dealing with Imperial agents here.”

“Are you certain?” the Admiral asked cautiously. “I don’t think we yet wish to exclude other possibilities—”

“I’m certain,” Han told him. “Right before the attack I saw the lieutenant give the others a hand signal of some kind. It’s a signal I’ve seen used before by Imperial commandos.”

Ackbar eyes swiveled in their sockets. “Very well,” he conceded. “Let us assume they _were_ Imperial agents, then. What objective did they hope to accomplish tonight?”

Bel Iblis sighed. “To instill fear in our allies,” he said, “show them we aren’t capable of protecting ourselves even here, in the heart of the Republic capital. It’s the kind of psychological warfare that would be right up Thrawn’s alley.”

“By wasting his own men?” Ackbar pressed. “I have read up on the Grand Admiral’s tactics, General. He was not known for spending men recklessly.”

“Correction: the _old_ Thrawn wasn’t,” Han said grimly. “Now that he’s got an unlimited supply of clones to throw at us…” His words trailed off.

A silence settled over the group as Han’s words sunk in. “We must take the time to consider the implications of this,” Ackbar decided at last. “Speak of it to no one, both of you—and I mean _no one_. Not even your wife, Captain Solo, can know.”

“You got it, Admiral,” Han said, deciding to overlook the implication that Leia somehow couldn't be trusted. “No problem.”

“Good,” Ackbar nodded. “If you will excuse me, gentlemen?”

Without another word he turned and hurried down the Grand Corridor towards the main turbolifts. “What’s his rush?” Han asked.

“He probably just wants to check in with Drayson, make sure there hasn’t been any major Imperial build-up over the past hour,” Bel Iblis guessed. “My understanding is he’s already been taking heat the past couple months for the Delta Source leak. Imperial agents sneaking right into the Palace aren’t going to help that.”

“Yeah, but most of that heat was coming from Fey’lya,” Han pointed out. Which wasn’t entirely true—he could recall a few conversations of his own on the subject with Ackbar, not all of them exactly cordial. “Fey’lya’s been about as quiet as a frightened tauntaun ever since we got back from the _Katana_.”

“A form of Bothan penance,” Bel Iblis identified it. “Don’t worry, if I know Borsk Fey’lya, he’ll be back on his feet—and sooner than we’d like.” He nodded at the hold-out blaster peeking out of Han’s boot. “Good idea keeping a spare on you, by the way. I may pick up the habit.”

“You usually don’t need one in the Palace,” Han said. “I wouldn’t mind if you put in a good word with Leia, though. I have a feeling I’m gonna get it when we get back to the suite.”

“I’ll do that,” Bel Iblis smiled. “In the meantime, when was the last time you ate something?”

To be honest, Han couldn’t remember. “Not sure,” he admitted, feeling his stomach suddenly start rumbling. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was. “Everything sort of happened before we made it to the main course.”

“Then come on,” Bel Iblis said, taking him by the shoulder. “Leia won’t be back from the medical wing for at least an hour. Let’s get you some dinner.”


	3. Journey to Jomark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke returns to the planet Jomark, hoping to uncover the truth behind Master C’baoth’s connection with the Empire.

_“No, we’re not going back to Coruscant, Artoo,” Luke told the droid, an echo of déjà vu tugging at him. “We’re going to a little place called Jomark. To see a Jedi Master.” —DARK FORCE RISING_

* * *

One of the first minor truths about interstellar flight that any observant traveler learned was that a planet seen from space almost never looked anything at all like the official maps of it. Scatterings of cloud cover, shadows from mountain ranges, contour-altering effects of large vegetation tracts, and lighting tricks in general, all combined to disguise and distort the nice clean computer-scrubbed lines drawn by the cartographers. It was an effect that had probably caused a lot of bad moments for neophyte navigators, as well as supplying ammunition for innumerable practical jokes played on those same neophytes by their more experienced shipmates.

As usual, the planet Jomark was the exception.

Luke Skywalker gazed out the canopy at the large green-brown ball rotating slowly beneath his X-wing’s nose. Whether it was because of the approach angle, or time of day, or even just pure dumb coincidence, Jomark once again looked precisely as it had that first time he’d come here to find Master C’baoth. The same lighting, the same assortment of clouds: everything like an exact copy of the detailed map sitting in the X-wing’s databanks.

There was one difference, though. Today, Luke knew what he was getting himself into.

Taking a breath, he reached out with the Force and started probing the planet below. There was another difference too, he realized. Last time, Luke had been able to sense C’baoth’s presence almost as soon as Artoo had brought them out of hyperspace, even if he hadn’t been able to determine the Jedi Master’s precise location. But try as he might, Luke couldn’t detect anything now. Did that mean C’baoth was somehow able to mask his sense? Or simply that he was in fact no longer here?

There was only one way to find out.

Snug behind Luke in his droid socket, Artoo hooted softly to himself. “What is it, Artoo?” Luke called back. “Are you picking something up on the sensors?”

The droid chortled back a curt negative. Artoo had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since they’d left Coruscant, even subdued; Luke might have said he was pouting, if he thought the droid capable of such a thing. Certainly Artoo didn’t like coming back here, and he wasn’t alone: Han and Leia had spent an hour each trying to convince Luke this little side-trip of his was a bad idea. Maybe they were right.

But Luke had had to come, one last time. He couldn’t give up on C’baoth that easily, not after spending so long looking for another Jedi. If C’baoth really was ill, as Luke suspected, then he needed to be helped. And if Mara had been telling the truth, and the reality was that C’baoth had been working for the Empire all along…well, Luke had to see that for himself, too. He didn’t expect anyone else to understand. It was, as he’d told Han, justanother of those crazy Jedi things.

And one he might as well get over with. “Okay, Artoo,” he said, wrapping a hand around the control stick. “I’m taking us down.”

He banked the X-wing left, and the planet began to grow larger in his canopy. Their target was the solitary continent that comprised the bulk of Jomark’s land mass—a decent-sized island near the equatorial line—and more specifically a ring-shaped lake that had formed among volcanic remains within the continent interior. But they wouldn’t go there directly. Last time they’d landed on the lake’s southern side, atop a promontory overlook where a large mansion had been spread out: the so-called High Castle, the fortress that C’baoth had made his residence.

But this time Luke was playing it more cautiously. It took him only a few minutes to locate the small ledge half-way down, where Artoo had stowed their X-wing during that first visit. Even from this distance it didn’t look like it would be the easiest climb, scaling up the ledge all the way to the cliff summit. But after the past few days trapped in Council meetings, Luke was eager for some exercise; besides—if C’baoth really _were_ somehow associated with the Empire—it wouldn’t do to park themselves in plain view where any Imperial probe might spot them. Keying in the repulsorlifts, Luke confirmed that the ledge was clear and then brought them down.

As he was shutting off the engines he heard Artoo trill another question. “No, Artoo, I want you to stay here,” he said. “But do me a favor and keep the systems on standby. _And_ keep an eye out. Even if C’baoth isn’t working with the Empire, that doesn’t mean he’ll be happy to see us.” Artoo whistled his agreement.

Luke had already popped open the canopy and slipped off his helmet; now, with a light leap, he was vaulting over the X-wing’s side and onto the ground beneath. A cool breeze was blowing across the ledge from the lake below, plucking at his clothes and hair—but Luke’s attention was instead drawn upwards, as he cast long looks across the rock wall looming above him. It was a fifty-meter, almost-sheer ascent to the crater’s top, but Luke had done a fair amount of climbing as a boy in Beggar’s Canyon, and the path looked more than doable to him. “Keep an eye out, Artoo,” he called one last time over his shoulder; and then, getting a secure grip on his first handhold, Luke started up.

It was harder than he’d expected. The volcanic rock offered plenty of grips, but the thin mountain air was making breathing difficult even with enhanced Jedi respiratory techniques, and the wind kept pulling at his cloak like determined fingers. Still, Luke didn’t mind; it had been a long time since he’d gotten a good workout. As he went he felt the weight of old memories tugging at him: scaling similar rock-faces as a kid on Tatooine, with Biggs and his other childhood friends; scrambling one-handed up the girders beneath the underside of Cloud City on Bespin; more recently, the rush of air as he swung down from the Tower of Law to rescue Han and Leia from those Noghri attackers on Bimmisaari. This last made Luke muse for a moment about his sister, waiting for him back on Coruscant; and her husband; and Chewbacca, and even Threepio, and everyone else he’d left behind—and perhaps most importantly the unborn twins still growing in Leia’s belly.

Luke wasn’t sure how long it took him to reach the top, but reach the top he did: and pulling at last over the edge allowed himself a brief respite as he cast a look around. Here at the summit it all looked exactly as he remembered: the small enclosing courtyard where he’d first met C’baoth, the decorative waist-high fence serviced by its single gate, and over it all the imposing stone shadow of the High Castle itself. Luke once again tried reaching out with the Force, but once again C’baoth’s presence was nowhere to be found.

When he was good and rested Luke stood up and started heading toward the mansion. The waist-high fencing was hopped over easily, as was the intervening distance between it and the Castle front door. He still couldn’t detect any indication of C’baoth—or any presence lingering inside, for that matter—but in the back of his mind Luke could feel a nagging sense of danger, that he wasn’t entirely sure whether to chalk up to some sort of guidance from the Force or just his own nerves. Before he’d left Coruscant he’d had a chance to read up on Jomark in the Senate Library, and the records there claimed that the High Castle was some kind of spiritual place to the locals, the vestige of an alien race the Jomarkians held in awe: with all the standard legends about hauntings and phantom apparitions pertaining thereto. It was then that Luke became aware of the feel of cold metal pressing into his palm, and looking down realized at some point he must have pulled out his lightsaber. With an effort he put it back on his belt.

Finally he came to the front door and pushed it open. The entry hall was dark and empty; the light of the open doorway casting strange shadows into the corners. Beyond this room waited the main hall itself, where C’baoth (and on one or two occasions Luke himself, under the Jedi Master’s tutelage) had sometimes sat in judgment upon the farmers and fishermen who lived down in the villages below: and beyond that, the corridor that led to C’baoth’s personal chambers. “Hello?” Luke called out. “Master C’baoth! Is anyone here?”

He wasn’t entirely sure what he expected. He was reminded of a similar sojourn, not so long ago: returning to Dagobah, and the long slog through the swamps to visit what remained of Master Yoda’s hut. He hadn’t really known what he’d expected then, either: to uncover some discarded text on Jedi teachings, maybe, possibly even the chance for a last exchange with the spirits of Ben Kenobi or Yoda himself? At the time he’d thought it was another prodding from the Force. But whatever Luke was expecting this time, all he got back was silence. “Master C’baoth?” he tried again.

When there was no response, Luke moved past the entry and into the secondary hall. This too was mostly dark and empty, though some faint illumination came peeking through a row of windows that were cut high-up into the western side. At the room’s distant end he could see it, the raised dais and ornate chair from which C’baoth had been wont to issue his decrees—an almost throne-like seat of polished wood, stiff and uncomfortable and thoroughly alien. It was in this chair here that Luke himself had sat, when he’d disappointed C’baoth so completely that first time he’d tried at one of his own proclamations. He could still recall the heat of the Jedi Master’s disapproval, and Luke’s equally competing sense of confusion: as if he’d somehow let C’baoth down.

But C’baoth wasn’t here now, and Luke felt instead only a sudden regret that he hadn’t tried harder to help the old man when he’d had the chance. From the moment of their first meeting Luke had been able to detect the deep instabilities, the erraticisms—even insanity—that underlay much of C’baoth’s personality. At the time he’d dismissed them simply as stressful side effects from being one of the last surviving Jedi. But now he wasn’t so sure. Now, he wished he’d done more. “Master C‘baoth!” Luke called again, one last time; but echoes were the only sound that answered him.

Yes, he wished he’d done more. Because whether C’baoth was working with the Empire or not, he clearly _wasn’t_ here. And he needed Luke’s help, even if he didn’t realize it.

* * *

Luke’s thoughts were interrupted by a click from the comlink. “What is it, Artoo?” he asked, pulling it from his belt.

Without the benefit of a translation it was hard to make complete sense of the droid’s warbling, but Luke knew Artoo well enough to get the gist. “Okay, calm down. How many people are approaching?”

The droid’s second response was even less helpful than the first. “Never mind—I can see them now,” Luke told him, stepping up to one of the narrow windows and peeking out. He could see them, all right—two villagers from the town below, making their way toward the mansion on the beat-up remains of what looked like a SoroSuub speeder bike. “Thanks, Artoo. I’ll check it out.”

Quickly Luke replaced the comlink and hurried through the maze of rooms to the main entrance. By the time he was back at the front door the two men had dismounted from their SoroSuub, and were already strolling past the courtyard up through the ornamental gate. “Hello,” Luke greeted, waving a friendly hand as he stepped out of the mansion shadow.

The two seemed to stop and stutter, and Luke was suddenly keenly aware of how intimidating he must look—a mysterious man in a black hood, emerging from the High Castle like one of those legendary apparitions. “Hey—I know you,” he realized, pointing at one of them. “You’re Svan, right? I’m a friend of Master C’baoth’s. Do you remember me?”

It looked like Svan remembered, all right, and the memory wasn’t a happy one. He was eyeing Luke warily, and Luke could see his right hand drifting down to the bulge in his pocket where—if Luke remembered correctly—he usually kept a tiny slugthrower hidden. “It’s okay,” Luke promised him, holding up his own hands. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Master is not here!” Svan sputtered out in choppy Basic, half-aiming the slugthrower in Luke’s direction. “Master is not here!”

“Yes, I know,” Luke assured him, trying to keep his hands in a place where Svan could see them. “I came looking for him. Do you know where he might be?”

But Svan and his companion were already shuffling back in the direction of their SoroSuub. “Master is not here,” they repeated. “He has been gone many days. We did not think he would come back. We did not mean harm.”

“Did he say anything before he left?” Luke pressed, risking a step closer even as they retreated another. “Do you know where I can find him? It’s very important.” A new thought occurred to him. “Did you see him leave with anyone?” he asked.

It was clear neither of them was listening. Their eyes widened suddenly with something like a primal fear, and together they spun around in an all-out sprint for the speeder. “Wait!” Luke called desperately, but he was hardly heeded. Already they had reached the SoroSuub and were revving it up.

Then Luke heard it too, even over the sputters coming from their speeder: a new sound filling the air, the distant yet unmistakably high-pitched whine of starship repulsor engines. Spinning around he could see it now, himself—the Y-shaped silhouette of an Imperial shuttle, already visible and well below the cloud-line, coming in on a course along the planetary meridian. And bearing direct for the High Castle. “ _Artoo!_ ” Luke hissed, yanking the comlink off his belt. By this point Svan and the SoroSuub were long gone, leaving only a fading puff of dust behind. “Artoo! Are you there?”

The droid’s questioning twitter came back promptly. “It looks like we’ve got company,” Luke told him, slipping back beneath the shadow of the front door, where—he hoped—he’d be mostly concealed from any visual scanning. And prayed they weren’t running life-form sensors. “I count at least one Imperial craft heading inbound,” he added, trying to peek around the corner without sticking his head out too far. “ETA looks to be about two minutes. You picking anything else up on the scope?”

Artoo beeped a definite negative. That was something, at least. “Good,” Luke said. He took another look at the approaching shuttle, did some quick math… “I can’t make it back to you before they’re within range,” he decided. “Sit tight and wait for my call. And keep those systems on standby—I’ve got a feeling we’ll be making a quick retreat out of here.”

Artoo whistled one last affirmative and then the comlink went silent. By now the shuttle was close enough that Luke could get a clear view of it, banking in around the mountain rim. It was Imperial, all right: he recognized the telltale insignia emblazoned on the dorsal wing, an angry red circle staring like a mechanical eye. No fighter escort, though, or at least none that Luke could spot. That meant they weren’t expecting trouble. Or else had enough firepower on board to handle whatever trouble they _were_ expecting.

Either way, they were in for a surprise.

Luke took a breath. Yes, they were in for a surprise, all right; though what exactly they were doing here in the first place, he couldn’t immediately guess. Searching for Master C’baoth, too? Or—the thought occurred suddenly now, like a splash of cold water—had they shown up looking for Luke himself; another trap like the one the Grand Admiral had arranged so neatly on Myrkr? All the rumors about that Delta Source leak in the Imperial Palace came rushing back to him. Was it possible the Empire had somehow known he was coming here? A quick probe at the incoming ship didn’t detect any of those usual Force-bubbles to indicate ysalamiri aboard: but at this distance that didn’t mean a whole lot.

Luke’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a loud roar overhead as the shuttle finally shot past above. It did a quick circle around the High Castle, before hovering to a midair stop; and then, with inverted wings rising up on either side, descended slowly to the ground below. A slight bump, as it settled upon the soft grass just outside the main gate—but even as the repulsorlifts died off the front ramp was lowering, and from the open mouth issued forth a squad of Imperial stormtroopers.

Luke watched silently from the doorway, counting each trooper as they filed through the single gate and then fanned out across the courtyard. Polished white armor gleamed brightly beneath the Jomark sun. It was a formation he’d seen before, and knew well: a typical wide-cover pattern—not too different from the same those troopers had employed on Myrkr a couple months back, while securing the crash site from his downed Skipray. By the time they’d finished a new figure hand emerged from the shuttle: the tan-clad shape of a mid-level officer, a lieutenant with a scowl on his face and a data pad in his hand. “Well?” he demanded, as one of the troopers hurried back to him.

“The area is secure, sir,” the stormtrooper reported.

“Good,” the lieutenant said. He gestured up into the shuttle…and coming down the ramp after him trotted a pair of Imperial techs, with a repulsorlift sled floating between them. “You two, get to work,” he ordered, handing them the data pad. “The Captain wants all of Procurement’s equipment packed and reloaded and on the shuttle before we can leave. Comms gear, fleet tech—anything that could point back to us or the Grand Admiral. Here’s a complete list.”

 _The Grand Admiral._ So, Mara was right, and C’baoth _had_ been working for the Empire all along. _No_ , Luke corrected himself. Not had; _was_. Truth be told, he couldn’t pretend he was especially surprised—after all, how else would a Jedi Master have been able to survive the Emperor’s purges?

“Go on, get going,” the lieutenant snapped. “I want this done and over with before sundown. Something about this place gives me the creeps,” he added, gazing up at the dark face and imposing edifice of the High Castle above him. There was a brief moment, when his eyes seemed to settle upon the doorway where Luke was hiding; and for the quickest heartbeat Luke worried he’d somehow been spotted. But there was no flicker of recognition from the other’s sense—and then the lieutenant was turning around. “You and you,” he said, pointing at pair of stormtroopers. “Better go with them. I don’t want us running into any trouble.”

“Yes, sir,” the troopers nodded in unison; and Luke felt a little frown crease his forehead. It was a running joke between Han and Lando that all stormtroopers sounded the same—not an entirely unfair one, given those microphonic filters they all sported in their front helmets. But even so, these two had sounded _uncannily_ alike…

He reached out with the Force again, this time to gently touch the nearest of the troopers’ minds; and just as quickly was reeling back. These troopers didn’t just _sound_ the same, he realized darkly; they _were_ the same—two more of Grand Admiral Thrawn’s new clone soldiers.

And it wasn’t just these two. _All_ the stormtroopers had that strange aura he’d sensed back on the _Katana_ , the same tingling ripple in the Force…

“Well, what are you waiting for?” the lieutenant asked, his scowl growing even deeper. “I said get going. You can start with the storage shed in the back, if you’re looking for somewhere to begin.”

The two techs saluted; and then, with their new escort in tow, wheeled themselves toward the gate and out of sight. The lieutenant watched from the top of the gangway, waiting until they were gone: then he too—with a last sideways glare for the High Castle—was marching back into the shuttle and disappeared from view. By now the rest of the stormtroopers had taken watch positions about the courtyard, sorting off into ones and twos as they established a vague perimeter circling the mansion. Luke gave them all a last once-over before slipping back into the entry hall.

“Artoo?” he whispered into his comlink.

A quiet beep was his only response. “Yes, I’m still here,” he soothed the droid. “It’s Imperials, all right; they’ve brought a full stormtrooper squad, plus a couple techs and whatever else is potentially hiding in that shuttle. It looks like Mara was right about Master C’baoth and the Empire, after all.”

Artoo blurted his opinion on that. “Yes, well, you’ll have plenty of time to say ‘I told you so’ once we’re safely out of here. Are the systems still on standby?”

An affirmative tweet, followed by a question. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan,” Luke assured him. “Just get the engines prepped and wait for my signal. I should be ready in a couple minutes.” One last chirp and Artoo signed off.

The stormtroopers were still milling about outside: Luke sensed at least ten of them, caught up in private conversations or else randomly patrolling the surrounding grounds. They all seemed to be giving the mansion itself a wide berth, he noticed—almost it seemed by design. He was reminded once again of the many legends and stories surrounding the High Castle, the dark tales of wraithly spirits…Probably the reason C’baoth had chosen the place for his residence, to begin with.

Time to put those legends to good use.

It took him less than a minute to get his cloak unhooked and slipped off his shoulders. Cut in a traditional style, it had a dark brown hood and a simple clasp for the neck: not unlike the one he’d worn infiltrating Jabba’s Palace, in fact, chosen for its simplicity as much as an homage to ancient Jedi tradition. The hem had gotten a little dirty during the hike along the cliff-face, but otherwise looked no worse for wear. Anyway it was all he had on him.

He gave it one last inspection. Then, reaching out with the Force, Luke lifted his hand: and the cloak suddenly rose up beside him like a ghostly companion, dangling in his invisible grip by the tip of its hood with the rest of it unfurling beneath.

The illusion wasn’t perfect, but it would do. From a distance at least it should look like there was someone underneath wearing it. Luke waved his hand again, and this time the cloak started gliding towards the door, through the entry into the courtyard beyond—and directly at the nearest stormtrooper patrolling outside.

These new clones were quick, all right. Luke hadn’t managed to get it more than a couple meters before the trooper issued a command to stop. A second command followed when the first wasn’t obeyed; then the blasters were up and firing. The initial shot went wide (probably deliberately, intended as a warning) but the next scythed right through the cloak’s center, with a decent-sized hole left sizzling in the chest.

There was a brief cry of victory, a briefer one of shock and dismay when they saw the cloak continue to move relentlessly towards them: and then all the stormtroopers were opening fire together, a withering barrage of blaster and bolt. Luke could sense their sudden panic; could certainly hear it in the hysterical shouts of the lieutenant, who had reappeared at the ramp’s top to learn what all the noise was about. “Keep firing!” he was screaming, “Shoot it! Shoot it!”…but the troopers were slowly backing up, even as the mysterious figure kept advancing.

Luke wasn’t going to get a better opening. “Artoo: _now!_ ” he puffed into the comlink—and then with a deep breath and the benefit of Force-enhanced muscles burst out of the doorway himself. He’d made it halfway across the courtyard before anybody seemed to notice; a dozen steps more until the first blaster shot started tracking his direction. By now the stormtroopers were starting to realize their mistake, and some of them turned to address this new threat that had emerged unexpectedly at their flank. But Luke was already over the fence and driving toward the cliff-edge just as fast as his legs could run. Already he could see the rim ahead of him. Fifteen steps to go; ten steps; five, four…

With the roar of repulsors the elongated nose of his X-wing suddenly appeared, rising up from the cliff below like a great bird, its S foils extended and its weapons primed. There was another shout of dismay from the troopers behind him, followed by an even more panicked one when Artoo let slip a few quick bursts from the wingtip cannons— “Artoo!” Luke called again.

The canopy covering the cockpit swung invitingly open, and with a great leap Luke jumped off the cliff-edge and landed inside. He was dropping into his seat and strapping himself in, even as Artoo began lowering the canopy back into place; the cockpit had barely sealed shut, before another blaster shot ricocheted harmlessly off the transparisteel. “All right, Artoo,” Luke said, popping on his helmet and grabbing the flight stick. “Let’s go!”

There was a sudden kick as Artoo switched on the sublight engines and the X-wing roared off into the atmosphere. From the ground a few laser blasts followed weakly after in their wake…but even the Imperials knew they couldn't do much damage at this range, and soon fell silent. “I’m fine, Artoo,” Luke assured the droid as a question scrolled across his screen. “Really. Now relax and start calculating the jump to lightspeed. My guess is those troopers weren’t alone out here.”

Artoo twittered an affirmative and got to work, and Luke took the moment to have a quick peek at the scanners. He couldn’t see much yet outside the canopy except a blanket of cloud cover, but he knew that somewhere up here had to be the Star Destroyer that had brought the shuttle in…

Yes, there it was, on his scanner just where he’d expected it: an _Imperial_ -class Star Destroyer, sitting in high orbit over the planet. And if Luke could detect it, it could certainly detect him—already it appeared to be moving into an intercept position.

Artoo, apparently, had noticed it, too. “I see it, I see it,” Luke answered the droid’s warble. On his screen the ship’s computer began running calculations and offering intercept estimates. A diagram appeared, with a triangle in the middle representing the X-wing and a second, larger triangle behind it for the Star Destroyer. Dotted lines extended out to connect the two. ETA: three minutes.

“We’ve got three minutes, Artoo,” Luke called back, altering the ship’s trajectory. “How are we coming on that lightspeed calculation?”

Artoo answered with a noncommittal beep. Luke tried adjusting the X-wing’s trajectory again; on his screen the dotted line got a little longer, and the ETA increased from three to four. “Unidentified starfighter,” the comm suddenly crackled, with a voice almost as harsh and unfriendly as the scowling lieutenant’s had been. “You are ordered to divert your course and bring your ship within tractor beam range.”

“Not likely,” Luke muttered, giving his computer screen another look. “Artoo—”

“Unidentified starfighter,” the voice interrupted, even more forcefully, “shut down your engines and prepare to be brought aboard. If you do not comply you will be fired upon.”

Artoo bleeped a comment. “Yes, they mean business, all right,” Luke agreed. “Do we have that lightspeed estimate yet?”

A new number appeared on his screen—two minutes. It was going to be close. Already the arrowhead shape of the Star Destroyer was filling up the sky behind him. A second later the sky _also_ started filling up with green turbolaser fire, as the ship’s captain made good on his threat; and began bearing its nearest batteries upon the fleeing X-wing. “Artoo, switch the deflector shields to double-back,” Luke ordered, yanking the flight stick and swinging into an evasive maneuver.

There was a beep as Artoo balanced the deflectors accordingly, and Luke took the brief lull to recheck his scanners. So far, so good. There was that incoming turbolaser fire, of course, but at the moment Luke wasn’t overly concerned; the Imperials were still too far away to score a serious hit, and with his Jedi reflexes he was confident he could dodge all but the most direct barrage.

But the tractor beams were another matter. Luke’s screen showed that the X-wing was just coming into the edge of ship’s range, represented by an elongated oval that blossomed out from the Star Destroyer’s bow. Even now his board was flashing with yellow lights warning of a near-lock. A couple more seconds, and then… “New plan, Artoo,” he said. “I want you to try modulating the deflectors. Keep alternating between double-back and double-front in three-second intervals.”

Artoo blurted out a protest— “Just do it, Artoo,” Luke said. Modulating shields wouldn’t throw off a tractor lock for more than a few extra seconds, he knew; but he also knew, from first-hand experience, that even a few extra seconds could make the difference between capture and escape. The last time he and Artoo had tangled with a Star Destroyer—on their first trip to Jomark, in fact—things hadn’t exactly ended well for them: Luke had been forced to break tractor lock by backfiring the acceleration compensator, severely damaging his hyperdrive in the process and leaving them stranded in deep space. It wasn’t an experience he was eager to repeat.

But this time his shield-slipping trick seemed to be working. The scope indicated they were deep within the Star Destroyer’s oval, but his flashing light hadn’t yet made the switch from yellow to red. If Artoo could keep it up just a little longer…

And then, suddenly, there came the long-expected ping from the board. Their two minutes were up; the lightspeed calculation was ready. Luke reached a hand over to the hyperdrive lever, and with a roar the X-wing leapt into hyperspace.

* * *

It was in the middle of their tour of the Chazwa system that Pellaeon got the message. “Priority transmission coming in, Admiral,” he announced, spying the light flashing on his board. “It’s from Captain Aban.”

“The _Bellicose_?” Thrawn frowned, from where he was sitting in the bridge command chair. A frown Pellaeon could well relate to. If memory served, the _Bellicose_ was currently on assignment at Jomark, retrieving the communications equipment from the little hideaway Procurement had set up for C’baoth. Hardly urgent stuff. “Interesting. Patch it through, please.”

Pellaeon pressed a button on his board, and over his display appeared the quarter-size holographic image of Aban himself. “Grand Admiral Thrawn,” the man greeted, offering a smart salute.

“Captain,” Thrawn acknowledged. “Has the _Bellicose_ completed its mission over Jomark?”

“Almost,” Aban said…but did Pellaeon notice a slight hesitation? “My crew is in the process of collecting the last of the comms gear now. They should be finished within the next hour.”

“I see,” Thrawn said. He allowed a cool moment to pass between them, before his next question: “May I ask the purpose of this transmission, then?”

This time Pellaeon was sure he caught Aban hesitate. “My men ran into a small problem while they were reloading the shuttle,” he explained. “They stumbled upon an intruder who appeared to be poking around the High Castle.”

“What kind of intruder, Captain?”

“I’m not entirely sure at this point, Admiral. The intruder hadn’t removed anything obvious from the mansion or its surrounding buildings. My men attempted to detain him, but the man managed to escape.” There was no doubt about that hesitation now. “In an X-wing starfighter.”

“An X-wing?” Pellaeon repeated dumbly. “You can’t mean—”

“Yes, sir,” Aban coughed. “It appears Luke Skywalker was on Jomark.”

Pellaeon felt his jaw drop. _Skywalker?_ It couldn’t be—Aban had to be mistaken. Surely Skywalker wouldn’t be foolish enough to return to Jomark so soon. “You’re certain it was Skywalker,” Thrawn said coolly.It wasn’t a question.

Even in the quarter-size holo, Aban went visibly pale. “Yes, Admiral. My men on the ground claim he used some sort of Jedi trick to sneak past them. It was Skywalker, all right.”

He stopped, waiting; and for a handful of uncomfortable minutes Thrawn sat silently stroking his chin. “You say _was_ , Captain,” he observed at last. “May I assume that Skywalker escaped successfully?”

Aban swallowed. “Yes, sir. His ship was able to jump into hyperspace before we could establish a tractor lock. I’m sorry, Admiral.”

Thrawn waved a hand. “You needn’t apologize. Skywalker has eluded Imperial capture on several occasions—including an ambush set by the _Chimaera_ and myself. It’s an unfortunate outcome, to be sure, but one in which you are hardly alone.”

Aban swallowed again, as some of the color returned to his face. “Thank you, sir.”

Pellaeon bit his tongue, wondering if Master C’baoth would agree with Thrawn’s generous assessment. He cast a nervous look around the bridge. But no; that’s right, C’baoth wasn’t here at the moment. He was “meditating”—whatever _that_ meant—in Thrawn’s private command room two decks below.

“We’ll hold off making any determinations until you submit your final report,” Thrawn continued, and to Pellaeon’s ear the implication was clear: there had better be nothing in it to suggest the _Bellicose_ had performed less than its absolute best. Judging from the holo, it was clear to Aban, too. “In the meantime, continue with your scheduled operation. Signal the _Chimaera_ when everything is complete.”

Aban gave another smart salute, and his image faded and disappeared from Pellaeon’s display. “You have a concern, Captain,” Thrawn said, turning towards him.

Space, was he still really that easy for the Admiral to read? “Just one, sir,” Pellaeon admitted. “Namely, what in the Empire was Skywalker doing back on Jomark?”

Thrawn smiled thinly. “An obvious question, of course, and one with an equally obvious answer. He must have returned to see Master C’baoth again.”

Pellaeon thought back to C’baoth’s accounting of how that last encounter between the two of them had transpired. “After everything that happened? Why?”

“That is a more difficult question,” Thrawn allowed. “Two conclusions present themselves, each with its own implication. Either Skywalker was not entirely convinced of C’baoth’s connections with the Empire…or else C’baoth’s influence over him is more acute than we initially gave credit for.”

“You mean…he summoned him there?” Pellaeon asked, suppressing a shiver. C’baoth himself had implied he was capable of such a feat a couple months back, though at the time Pellaeon had dismissed the assertion as so much bravado. If he really _could_ exert that kind of control over another Jedi…

But Thrawn at least didn’t appear quite so concerned. “Nothing as dire as that, I think,” he assured, with a shake of his head. “If C’baoth could truly summon Skywalker back to Jomark on a whim, he would hardly have done so while he himself was away, would he? No, I imagine the control to be something more subtle. If it’s anything at all.” He sighed. “At any rate, it appears our esteemed Jedi Master was a little too hasty in his desire to return to us.”

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon said, once again thankful C’baoth wasn’t on the bridge. He glanced reflexively toward the lift. “Are you going to tell him?”

“About Skywalker? I see no reason to.” Thrawn shrugged. “If Master C’baoth is unable to sense these kinds of things on his own, I don’t think it our responsibility to inquire into them for him. We have our own matters looking after.” And with that, he was turning back towards the viewport, and the dark black circle of the planet below. “Speaking of which, there is still the Chazwa garrison to attend to. Have the last of the _Chimaera_ ’s shuttles finished unloading?”

Pellaeon checked his display, pushing C’baoth and Skywalker and all Jedi out of his mind. “Yes, sir. The Chazwa base now has a full complement of clone soldiers at its disposal.”

“Good,” Thrawn said. “Then instruct their shuttles to return to the ship. And have Helm begin plotting a course for Svivren.” His thoughtful red eyes glowed fiercely. “Skywalker won’t wait forever, Captain, but he’ll wait for the time being. In the interim we have a war to win.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you’d like to learn more about my writing, including a science fiction retelling of _The Hobbit,_ follow me on Twitter [@NobNesbit](https://twitter.com/nobnesbit) or check out my website: [http://nobnesbit.com](https://nobnesbit.com/)


	4. Dreadnaughts Attack!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newly-minted general Bel Iblis is dispatched to the outer sectors by Mon Mothma to help shore up the Republic’s defenses against the coming onslaught of Grand Admiral Thrawn. But even the legendary Bel Iblis can’t predict all the Empire’s schemes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you’d like to learn more about my writing, including a science fiction retelling of _The Hobbit,_ follow me on Twitter [@NobNesbit](https://twitter.com/nobnesbit) or check out my website: [http://nobnesbit.com](https://nobnesbit.com/)

_“Where are we, anyway?” Han added, stepping over to the helm console and activating it._

_“We’re in the middle of nowhere,” Lando said with strained patience. “And fiddling with that helm isn’t going to get us anywhere.”_

_“You’re right,” Han agreed, smiling tightly. “It’s not going to get_ us _anywhere.”_ — _DARK FORCE RISING_

* * *

“General Bel Iblis,” the uniformed man greeted, as the heavy door of the airlock hatch finally hissed open and rolled aside. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m Colonel Colchis.” He presented a sharp salute.

“Thank you, Colonel,” Bel Iblis replied, studying the other’s face. He knew a little about Colchis already, of course; and he knew especially that the colonel had been part of the old Chandrila contingent that had jumped ship with Admiral Drayson to join the Rebellion. That group tended to adulate Mon Mothma almost as much as they adulated the Republic itself, and typically didn’t take kindly to anyone who quibbled with her.

But there wasn’t any stiffness or resentment in Colchis that Bel Iblis could see. “Let me introduce my associate,” he said, indicating the woman behind him. “Sena Leikvold Midanyl. My second-in-command.”

Sena accepted Colchis’s second salute with a curt nod. “So, this is Ogamni,” she observed, casting a looking around.

“Yes, ma’am,” Colchis confirmed, giving the station a once-over himself. With just three hangars/repair platforms connected around a central hub, it wasn’t nearly as impressive as the operations at, say, Ord Pardron or Sluis Van. But it was still the major defensive outpost for at least two adjacent Republic sectors, and it was impressive enough. “Or at least, the orbital base. There are also a couple administrative offices down on the planet itself.” He pointed out a nearby viewport.

Bel Iblis followed where he indicated, to see the blue-and-white planet framed rotating below. “I’m surprised more staff isn’t stationed planetside.”

Colchis shrugged. “Admiral Ackbar felt we would have a faster response time if the primary staff was kept up here, on the orbital platforms.”

“Of course,” Bel Iblis said. His gaze drifted away from the planet, to the long string of mid-sized ships currently lined up in docking ports along the station’s length. “Ogamni is primarily a starfighter base, isn’t that right?”

“That’s correct, sir. We have up to three squadrons on call at all times, rotating in six-hour shifts. That’s in addition to the teams that do reconnaissance and surveillance. All told we have about two-hundred starfighters stationed here.”

“But you _do_ service some capital ships?” Bel Iblis pressed.

Colchis smiled. “You’re referring to Dock Five. Yes, we do some maintenance and repair work, though that’s mostly reserved for special circumstances. No doubt you recognize some of the ships yourself.”

Bel Iblis frowned, not entirely sure what the man was driving at. Certainly he recognized them: there was the _Peregrine_ , of course, Bel Iblis’s personal flagship, berthed beside a couple of Assault Frigates that looked to be in the middle of a hyperdrive overhaul. Past them he could see a lone Mon Cal Star Cruiser, its ovoid and organic silhouette seeming rather out of place among the girders and harder lines of the industrial-style platform. And sitting in Dock Five…

“Well, I’ll be,” he chuckled. “Those are Dreadnaught Heavy Cruisers.”

“Yes, sir,” Colchis nodded, his smiling growing even wider. “But not just any Dreadnaughts…”

“Of course,” Bel Iblis said, giving them another look. The subtleties of slave-rigged capital ships weren’t immediately apparent to even the well-trained eye. But then, Bel Iblis had spent a lot of time working with them over the years. “I didn’t know any of the Dark Force was in service yet.”

“Technically, they’re aren’t. After your skirmish at the _Katana_ , Admiral Drayson instructed that the remaining Dreadnaughts be towed here for a complete overall of the power systems and sublight drives.”

“I wouldn’t have thought Ogamni had the facilities necessary for something like that,” Sena commented.

Colchis shrugged. “It’s true we deal with snubfighters most of the time. But we can handle capital ships, when the situation requires.”

“And the overhaul?” Bel Iblis asked. “How is it coming along?”

“As well as can be expected,” Colchis admitted. “Grand Admiral Thrawn certainly took the bantha’s share for himself—all told there were less than fifteen of the original two-hundred Dreadnaughts left over by the time my team got to them. But the ones I’ve inspected are in decent condition. We’re almost finished with the first batch and expect to put them into action by the end of next week.”

 _And not a moment too soon_ , Bel Iblis reflected. With Grand Admiral Thawn and his own _Katana_ Dreadnaughts out there hitting every Republic base he could find, they needed all the ships they could get.

“But I’m sure you came to look at more than just a few Dreadnaughts?” Colchis said pointedly.

With an effort Bel Iblis brought himself back to the matter at hand. “Yes,” he said. “Admiral Ackbar has asked me to go over the emergency response plans for this sector.”

“Of course, General,” Colchis said, indicating down the corridor that led into the base proper. “We’d already gotten word of your arrival. If you’ll follow me, please?”

* * *

“This is Rogue Three,” the comm crackled. “You copy, Rogue Leader?”

“I’m here, Rogue Three,” Wedge Antilles responded into his helmet headset. “Anything to report?”

“Nothing on this side of the base,” Three sighed; and even over their spotty comms Wedge could hear the flatness and boredom in the other’s voice. A boredom Wedge well could relate to. Sitting around waiting for Grand Admiral Thrawn’s next move was bad enough; but getting stuck on these inspection tours was absolute torture.

He looked out the canopy of his X-wing cockpit, at the circling stretch of the Ogamni starfighter base dancing above the blue-green planet. Still, Wedge figured, it could be worse. Only a couple weeks ago Rogue Squadron had been stuck running escort duty for cargo ships. Today at least they were attached to the legendary Garm Bel Iblis, helping the former Senator—now New Republic General—supervise the defenses for whenever the heavy part of Thrawn’s hammer finally came down. There were worse assignments to pull.

“Do another loop,” Wedge ordered, easing his X-wing past a Corellian Corvette that was heading for Dock Seven. “I doubt the Empire is crazy enough to attack a major Republic base—”

“But a guy can hope?”

Wedge smiled. “Something like that,” he agreed. Things had been relatively quiet for the Rogues ever since that fierce dogfight at the _Katana_ , and he could tell a lot of his people were itching for a little action once again.

And with a Grand Admiral out there, you never knew. A couple months ago Wedge wouldn’t have thought the Empire crazy enough to try plucking fifty capital ships from the middle of a Republic shipyard; yet that’s exactly what Thrawn had nearly done, back at Sluis Van. With almost two-hundred _Katana_ Dreadnaughts in his control, _and_ these supposed clone soldiers to crew them, who knew what Thawn would be crazy enough to try next?

 _And probably pull it off, too_ , Wedge reflected sourly. Maybe a little boredom wasn’t such a bad thing, after all.

He’d almost finished his own loop of the base when his sensors picked up the blip of a new ship coming inbound. Wedge drifted his X-wing lazily toward it…

“Alert!” the voice of Ogamni Control suddenly blared in his ear. “Imperial Star Destroyer exiting hyperspace!”

Wedge frowned at his board. An Imperial Star Destroyer—that couldn’t be right? He brought up the incoming ship on his display…

And let out an old Corellian curse. It was a Star Destroyer, all right, materializing out of hyperspace as if somehow conjured there by his own thoughts; and coming in on an entry vector that put it just out of turbolaser range on the base’s farther side. Even as Wedge rounded his turn he could see the telltale arrowhead shape, a distant silhouette looming beyond the battle-station like a bird of prey. “Rogue Group, this is Rogue Leader,” he said into the comm. “All units, report in.”

“Rogue Five, standing by,” the reply came back promptly. “Looks like the Empire’s crazy enough to try attacking this place, after all.”

“Or genius enough,” Rogue Three added bitterly. “What’s the word, Wedge?”

“Form up,” Wedge ordered, flicking a switch on his console. “Lock S foils into attack position. We’ll fly along their main axis and then break for the starboard guns. I don’t know how long it’ll take the rest of the base to scramble their fighters—”

“Belay that, Rogue Squadron,” a new voice interrupted him. “You are ordered to stand down and hold current position. Maintain your patrol and await further orders.”

Wedge started at his comm display, feeling his mouth drop slightly. “Say again, Ogamni Control,” he answered back. “Did you just instruct to _stand down_?”

“That’s an affirmative, Rogue Leader. Colonel Colchis wants all starfighters to maintain position. Capital ships only are to engage.”

Wedge couldn’t believe it. But it wasn’t his place to argue. “Copy that,” he acknowledged, powering down the laser cannons. “Holding position.”

With a sigh he switched back to the squadron’s private frequency. “You heard the man,” he told the Rogues. “We’re to stay back until further orders.”

“With a Star Destroyer sitting out there?” Rogue Seven challenged.

“Those are our orders,” Wedge confirmed, casting another look out the canopy. At the black arrowhead still just drifting there. Waiting. _What are you up to this time?_ he wondered.

* * *

Thrawn stood silently for a long moment at the _Chimaera_ ’s bridge viewport, looking out at the dark blinking mass of Ogamni Station below. “You see what they’re doing, don’t you, Captain?” he asked.

Standing stiffly beside Thrawn, and feeling a little too much like a cadet on his first day at the Academy, Pellaeon squinted out the viewport himself at the cluster of ships huddled outside. “Uh…not really, Admiral.”

“Of course you do,” Thrawn admonished, indicating at the far end of the orbital platform. “Notice how they’re launching capital ships to engage, while leaving the fighters in back-up position. The Chandrilans simply aren’t familiar enough with starfighter combat to understand the best ways for making use of them. A rather glaring flaw in their art, as it happens.”

“Sir?”

“Chandrilans tend to promote large centerpieces over smaller, more ornamental ones.” He waved a hand out the viewport, as if it somehow proved his point. “A mistake, really, to put one in charge of a starfighter base.”

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon agreed noncommittally. Of course, they already knew from the Intelligence report that a Chandrilan was in command here. “Should I launch our own fighters?”

“Not yet,” Thrawn shook his head. “We only want to draw out their main force. No need to put any more of our own ships at risk than necessary. In fact,” he decided, “let’s hold position here. It seems our prey has chosen to come to us without the need for further provocation.”

Pellaeon relayed the order to the helm officer and then returned his attention to the viewport. Thrawn was right, as usual: outside he could see a handful of capital ships—mostly Assault Frigates, though Pellaeon also noticed at least one of those hideous Mon Calamari cruisers—debarking from their docking stations and beginning to converge toward the _Chimaera_. “Shall I have communications activate the signal?” he asked.

“Let’s allow them to get a little closer,” Thrawn suggested, a small smile forming on his lips. “We wouldn’t want to show our hand too early.”

Pellaeon nodded. And waited.

* * *

Bel Iblis had sent Sena back to the _Peregrine_ as soon as the alarms had started hooting; but by the time he and Colchis were stumbling into the base’s main command center someone had finally managed to switch them off. The place was plenty chaotic without them. Everywhere Bel Iblis looked he saw senior staffers and duty officers, scrambling from station to station; at the row of comm and sensor consoles lining the back wall operators were frantically barking into their headsets. Yes, it was chaos, all right. “Report,” Colchis ordered, grabbing a nearby man in a major’s uniform.

“Imperial Star Destroyer, came out of hyperspace two minutes ago,” the major said. “It’s moved itself into position just outside the platform’s defenses.”

“ _A_ Star Destroyer?” Bel Iblis repeated. “Just the one?”

“So far,” the major confirmed, “although it may be a feint. We’re mobilizing our ships now.”

“What about fighters?” Bel Iblis asked. “Bombers? Has the Star Destroyer launched any of those?”

“No, sir,” the major shook his head.

“Have they launched _any_ kind of support craft?” Bel Iblis pressed.

The man gave him a funny look, clearly not holding too high of an opinion of the legendary Garm Bel Iblis. “None yet.”

“What are you thinking, General?” Colchis interjected.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, taking a hard look at the holographic tactical display in the room’s center. The major was right: Bel Iblis immediately spotted the angry red blip that was the Star Destroyer, parked just out of turbolaser range and waiting patiently. Making no indication of either aggression or attack. “But I don’t like it. Forget Thrawn’s reputation for a minute. Have you ever heard of a single Star Destroyer taking on an entire starfighter base?”

“So you think it’s a feint, too?”

“I don’t know…” his voice trailed off. “But I don’t like it. How close is the nearest Republic task force?”

Colchis turned to the major. “General Kryll’s group is currently touring the Generis system,” the major said. “He could be here in maybe twenty minutes.”

“Can you get them any faster?” He took another look at the main display. Colchis’s men had already started moving several of the base’s capital ships to intercept, he saw: on the map a Mon Cal Star Cruiser—the monitor identified it as the _Orthavan_ —began drifting into position, flanked by a trio of Assault Frigates. Further back was a handful of starfighter squadrons, circling restlessly like a swarm of insects.

“I can try,” Colchis said, “but we’re the main military outpost in this sector. Usually people are calling _us_ for help.”

“Do it anyway,” Bel Iblis suggested. “Who knows what Thrawn's got up his sleeve this time?”

Colchis gave the major a nod, and the other scurried off to the comm station. “Any other orders, General?” Colchis asked.

Bel Iblis turned toward him, noticing for the first time the respectful and deferential look in his eye. Whatever doubts he’d had about the man before, they were gone now. “Have that Star Cruiser hold its position,” he said, pointing at the display, “I don’t like the idea of meeting Thrawn on the battleground of his choosing. And reform the Assault Frigates in a triangle-vee pattern. How many starfighters can you scramble on short notice?”

“We’ve already got two X-wing squadrons running patrol,” Colchis said, relaying the orders. “Three more are ready to launch on my order.”

“I suggest you give it.” On the main display the _Orthavan_ had suddenly come to a stop, with maybe ten klicks still separating it from the Star Destroyer. Behind it, the three Assault Frigates were already shifting into their triangle-vee attack formation, passing the Star Cruiser as they began moving into firing range.

His gaze drifted back towards the platforms, hunting for anything else they might potentially throw at their would-be attackers. It settled on Dock Five, and the dark gray silhouettes still lined up like Shaum Hii cattle… “What about the _Katana_ Dreadnaughts?” he asked suddenly. “You said the first round of retrofitting was almost complete. Could they be launched, too?”

Colchis considered that. “Theoretically,” he mused, “but we don't currently have enough men to crew them. Admiral Drayson was supposed to send a caretaker team in a couple days.”

It was about this time that the major finally returned from the comm station. “We were able to make contact with General Kryll’s group,” he said. “They should be here in fifteen minutes.”

Bel Iblis hoped it would be enough. “So what now?” Colchis asked.

“Now,” Bel Iblis declared, “we find out what that Star Destroyer is really doing here.”

* * *

Outside the _Chimaera_ ’s viewport the Assault Frigates suddenly began to change formation. “Interesting,” Thrawn murmured, almost to himself. He looked at Pellaeon. “You see what they’re doing _now_ , don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon nodded, watching the Frigates carefully. There could be no doubt about it: they were shifting into a classic tri-vee pattern. “It looks like the same formation those Dreadnaughts utilized at New Cov a couple weeks ago.”

“Very astute, Captain,” Thrawn praised. “Your observation is correct, and therefore lends itself to only one logical conclusion. Our friend the Corellian is in charge here.”

Pellaeon frowned. “But I thought a Chandrilan ran this base.”

“Oh, he most certainly does,” Thrawn assured him. “But it seems the legendary Bel Iblis was also available to lend a hand. Most likely he’s touring all Republic bases in this sector.”

“I don’t recall seeing anything from Intelligence to that effect.”

“Neither do I,” Thrawn admitted, “nor from Delta Source, either. It appears the General has somehow managed to fly under our radar.” He shrugged. “No matter. We’ll simply have that much more of an audience for our demonstration.” He looked outside at the still-approaching silhouettes. “Speaking of which, I think the time has come. Is everything prepared?”

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon checked his screen. “Communications is ready to begin broadcasting at your command.”

“They have it,” Thrawn confirmed. “Lieutenant Tschel,” he called down the portside crew pit, “activate the signal.”

* * *

Wedge bit his lip impatiently. He’d spent most of his adult life gunning Imperials into space dust (and in turn getting gunned at by them) and it wasn’t in his nature to wait politely for permission to start. Especially when he couldn’t see any logical reason for it. “This is ridiculous,” Seven spoke up, as if reading his thoughts. “There’s a Star Destroyer not twenty klicks out, and we’re just sitting here?”

“Settle down, Rogue Seven,” Wedge warned, shooting the other a quick look out the cockpit canopy. Griping about command decisions was a good way to get yourself court martialed, even on a supposedly closed circuit.

Still, Wedge had to admit, Seven had a point. That Star Destroyer was still just sitting there, but Wedge knew that couldn’t possibly last much longer. Wedge had seen Thrawn in action enough to know the Grand Admiral undoubtedly had something bigger planned, and Wedge would rather be on the offensive when it happened.

“Looks like the Frigates are finally moving in,” Rogue Three broke into his thoughts.

Wedge glanced at his monitor. Three was right. The Star Cruiser had seemingly dropped into a hold position a minute ago, but the Assault Frigates were pushing on—reformed into a triangle-vee pattern, he noticed—and at last came into turbolaser range. Whatever it was that was about to happen, it looked like it was about to happen now.

Behind him his R2 unit suddenly gave a little trill. “What is it?” Wedge asked.

The droid warbled again, and on his monitor a long translation flashed across the screen. “Signal?” Wedge repeated. “What kind of signal?”

“Hey, Wedge,” Three’s voice interrupted again. “My R2 unit’s detecting some weird transmission coming from that Star Destroyer.”

“Mine, too,” Wedge said, studying the analysis report that came up. Carrier wave; dating from at least before the Battle of Yavin, from what his R2 could determine. And definitely being broadcasted from that Star Destroyer. “I don’t like this,” Rogue Five sniffed.

“I don’t, either,” Wedge admitted, thinking. There was something that was oddly familiar… He set aside the analysis report for a moment and keyed for a mid-range scan. But no—all civilian traffic was accounted for, nothing like that suspiciously empty freighter Wedge had noticed at the Sluis Van shipyards a few weeks ago. But the nagging feeling wouldn’t go away. “R2, run a cross-check of that signal against the battle data from the Sluis Van attack,” he instructed. “Check for any similarities in frequency or carrier structure—”

“Rogue Squadron, evasive maneuvers!” Rogue Five suddenly exclaimed. “Wedge, I’m under attac—!”

“Janson!” Wedge yelled, instinctively yanking on his control stick—just as the sizzling flash of an ion burst streaked through the space his X-wing had been occupying a few seconds before. He spun the fighter into a tight spiral, even as a second blast followed quickly behind the first. “Does anyone have eyes on Rogue Five?” he heard himself barking, leveling the ship off. “Rogue Squadron, check!”

“They got him, Wedge,” Rogue Three answered back grimly.

On Wedge’s monitor he finally saw it: the blip indicating Rogue Five, now dark and blacked out. But—his R2 confirmed it, after a scan—not fatally so: the ion blast had fried Janson’s entire electrical system, knocking the X-wing dead in space, though Janson himself should still be alive in there. Assuming they were able to get a medevac shuttle to him in time. “Looks like he took the hit head-on,” Rogue Three added.

Wedge took a breath. “We’ll have to worry about that later,” he decided, checking over his shoulder. “Anyone see what got him?”

“Dreadnaught cruiser,” Rogue Seven said, “vector two-two-three mark twenty. Look!”

Seven was right. As soon as he’d said it, Wedge spotted the drive glows and dark outline of a Rendili Heavy Dreadnaught, already moving past them and pushing on to the blind side of the Star Cruiser _Orthavan_ five kilometers out. Another Dreadnaught could be seen sliding into support position beside it,

“ _Katana_ Dreadnaughts,” Wedge observed, checking his sensor report. “I count at least three more. Could this be Thrawn’s backup?”

“My scanners didn’t pick up any signatures coming out of hyperspace,” Rogue Three pointed out.

“They’re not Thrawn’s,” Seven announced darkly. “They’re ours. Take a look.”

Wedge saw exactly what he meant. On the shipyard’s nearer side two of the dark gray Dreadnaughts could be seen lifting up slowly out of their berths: clam-shaped noses turned towards the battle that was forming further out, their ion cannon potshotting away at the nearest cluster of X-wings. Meanwhile three more Dreadnaughts had slipped into firing positions directly above the station itself, their own ion batteries pounding at the well-shielded but relatively undefended platforms hanging below. The skies around suddenly lit up as both sides started exchanging blue and red laser fire

 _What in space is going on here?_ Wedge wondered. Again his mind flashed back to Sluis Van. Was that Thrawn’s plan, again—was he trying to _steal_ the newly refurbished Dreadnaughts? Smuggled in a hijacking crew, somehow; and was now using his Star Destroyer as a distraction to provide cover for their escape…?

There came a sudden twitter behind him. “What is it?” Wedge asked.

His R2 unit pulled up a new report. It had finished its cross-check of that strange broadcast against the X-wing’s battle data, and finally found a match—but not with the records from Sluis Van. “The _Katana_ battle?” Wedge read dumbly.

Then he remembered it, suddenly—the spectacular flash that had brought the battle to its end, as one of the remaining Dreadnaughts crashed right into the middle of that second Star Destroyer—piloted remotely by Han Solo from the _Katana_ ’s bridge—

At last it all clicked. “Rogues, line it up,” he instructed, flipping the switch for his S foils and bringing his laser cannons online. “Porkins’ Formation, and let’s keep it tight. Shield overlap should provide enough cover in case those Dreadnaughts try another shot at us.”

“What is it, Wedge?” Seven asked.

“That broadcast—I figured it out,” Wedge told them. “It’s not just a carrier signal. It’s a _slave signal._ ”

Rogue Three got there first. “You mean like the kind the Dark Force operated?”

“Precisely.” Wedge swallowed. “The exact kind that someone would use to, say, remote-control the flight and weapons systems of fifteen _Katana_ Dreadnaughts.”

On the channel he was sure he caught someone swear. “So what do we do?” Rogue Three asked.

“For now, we do what we do best.” He glanced over his shoulder. “R2, inform Ogamni Control that the Star Destroyer has remote activated the Dreadnaughts’ slave circuits—maybe they can figure out a way to _de_ activate them. In the meantime we’re going in, orders or no orders.” He punched his sublight engines to full-power. “Rogue Squadron: attack.”

* * *

“Report from the Assault Frigates, General,” someone from the comm station called out. “They’ve engaged the enemy ship.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” Indeed Bel Iblis could see it himself on the main display: the sudden flash of turbolasers as the three Assault Frigates began firing in unison on the Star Destroyer. The Star Destroyer in turn shifted to respond, trying to split through their middle while delivering massive broadsides from either bow. Bel Iblis stood watching the monitor impatiently, waiting for some movement or motion to indicate the Imperials’ real intention here…

He was still waiting for it when Colchis stepped up beside him. “General, I think you better take a look at this,” he murmured.

“What is it?” Bel Iblis asked, following Colchis to the bank of consoles in the back.

“One of our communications officers picked up a strange signal from that Star Destroyer a few moments ago,” he said. “Show him, Lieutenant.”

“It’s not any signal I recognize, sir,” the officer said, bringing up the broadcast on his screen so Bel Iblis could see it. “Certainly not a standard Imperial code. It almost looks like an Old Republic signal.”

“It is,” Bel Iblis confirmed. He recognized the pattern, at least. “It’s a pre-Clone Wars beckon remote—we use something similar on the _Peregrine_. The question is, why are they broadcasting it?”

“It’s a low-frequency signal,” Colchis noted, pointing at the sine wave. “Could it be some kind of encoded message they didn’t think we’d notice?”

“Unlikely.” Bel Iblis thought for a moment. “Have the mid-range sensors picked up any unexplained drive emissions recently?” he asked suddenly.

“You mean like from a cloaked ship?” Colchis proposed wryly. “That was my first thought, too. But the scan I keyed for didn’t detect any.” Not that that necessarily meant anything; the only surefire way to locate a cloaked vessel, as far as Bel Iblis was aware, was with a crystal gravfield trap, like the one he kept at Peregrine’s Nest. But there was no point in bringing that up now. “Anyway I thought cloaking shields were double-blind to communication transmissions?”

“They are.” Bel Iblis sighed, “or at least, they’re supposed to be. Conventional military wisdom states that any ship operating under a cloaking shield should be blocked from receiving standard comms; but the truth is, not that much is really known about how the technology works. We already suspect Thrawn has some new system that allows him to boost subspace transmissions during combat: it’s possible he’s found a way to use that same system to break through a cloaking shield.” He stroked at his chin. “I wonder if—”

“Colonel!” someone called out suddenly from the other side of the command center. “Message from the _Orthavan_ : they’re under attack!”

Bel Iblis scurried back to the main display, a flicker of irritation flashing through his mind. He’d directed the Cruiser to hold its position ten kilometers out. If they’d moved back into attack formation without orders…

But no, there it was on the monitor, precisely where he’d left it: staring patiently at the Star Destroyer ten klicks away. But coming up behind it… “Where did those Dreadnaughts come from?” he demanded.

“I…I’m not sure, sir,” the sensor officer admitted. “I didn’t see them come out of lightspeed—”

“General!” another officer interrupted. “I’m receiving reports from two different fighter squadrons of additional attacks near Dock Five.”

“Bring up D-5,” Bel Iblis instructed.

On the main holographic display the area representing the docking platforms was suddenly enlarged. There they were, harrying away like mynocks around an exposed power cable; four more Dreadnaughts, bearing upon the station with angry ion batteries blazing. “Those are Dark Force Dreadnaughts,” Colchis realized beside him. “Those are _our_ Dreadnaughts.”

Bel Iblis started to protest, took another look at the display. Even as Colchis was saying it, he noticed two more of the clam-nosed ships: breaking dock moorings and rising out of their assigned berths, in what seemed a driving effort to join the other four. “How many did you say you’d overhauled in the first batch?” he asked Colchis darkly. Suddenly it all made sense to him.

“Seven or eight,” Colchis said, picking up on his tone, “about half of what we towed in. Why?”

“General!” the communications officer interrupted again, before Bel Iblis could answer. “Message from one of the X-wing leaders. He says—”

“He says the Imperials are activating the Dreadnaught’s slave remotes,” Bel Iblis finished for him. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“What?” Colchis blurted.

“That strange broadcast you noticed,” Bel Iblis explained. On the display the space between the Dreadnaughts and the Star Cruiser began flashing with laser fire. “It’s the signal for the _Katana_ ’s remote slave circuits. We use the same thing on the _Peregrine_ to better coordinate combat between our own Dreadnaughts. Thrawn must have found a way to manipulate it as a means to override manual controls.”

Colchis muttered something under his breath Bel Iblis didn’t quite catch. “We have to do something,” the Colonel said aloud.

“You mean fire on our own ships?” Bel Iblis challenged, but he knew Colchis was right. Star Cruisers were tough, but even they couldn’t take a lot of pounding from a couple of Dreadnaughts for very long. If they could come up with some way to counter the _Katana_ signal…

And then a new, horrible thought occurred to him. “Lieutenant, what’s the status of the _Peregrine_?” he grabbed at the sensor officer.

The man tapped at his console, and on the holo display the _Peregrine_ ’s docking port was highlighted in green. Just as Bel Iblis had feared: it too was slipping out of its station and moving to join the fight, portside batteries already contributing to the barrage…

“We have to disable them,” Colchis insisted in his ear, “or else neutralize their weapons somehow. The ion emplacements, at least, can be taken out without too much risk.”

On the holo the _Peregrine_ had now joined another Dreadnaught in its attack on Dock Four. With Sena and the rest of the crew trapped aboard. “I’m open to suggestions,” Bel Iblis gritted helplessly.

And for once, even the legendary Bel Iblis was at a loss for what to do next.

* * *

“Rogue Three, break right,” Wedge ordered; and in unison the two X-wings split to either side, Wedge diving to the left while his wingman cut opposite. There was a brief moment where the Dreadnaught’s ion cannon hesitated, a slightly shorter one when it finally turned to follow Three’s path: and then Wedge was blasting it into slag. “Nice shooting, Rogue Leader!” Three whooped over the comm, moving back into escort position behind him. “That’s one down.”

“And about a hundred to go,” Wedge griped, trying to remember how many weapon emplacements there were on a standard Rendili Dreadnaught and doing some math. He didn’t like the final count. “This is getting us nowhere,” he said, dimly aware of that same surge of anger and helplessness he’d felt during the Sluis Van battle. “It’s going to take forever to knock out all their ion guns.”

And even if they did… He was reminded again of the spectacular explosion, as the _Katana_ ’s Dreadnaught kamikazed right through the middle of that helpless Star Destroyer…

Wedge took a breath and gave his mid-range scanners a check. Most of the other Rogues seemed to be holding their own, for the time being: X-wings were nimble enough at evading turret fire even when they _weren’t_ being clumsily aimed by slave remote, and the Dreadnaughts’ cannons hadn’t proven much of a threat since that first unexpected salvo. The _Orthavan_ itself didn’t look to be faring quite as well, with several black scoffs along its portside hull indicating where the two Dreadnaughts’ ion fire had managed to penetrate. The rest of the Dreadnaughts were still clustering over Docks Four and Five, hammering away at the station’s shields with as much firepower as they could bring to bear. Further out, Wedge could see the three Assault Frigates, their triangle-vee abandoned in favor of an encirclement formation, as they struggled to keep the Star Destroyer at bay.

“Let’s head back for one more run,” Wedge said, banking his X-wing around and reviewing their target Dreadnaught with another once-over. What they really needed was a way to take out the control or electrical systems, he decided, maybe disable the sublight engines. Wedge had instructed his R2 unit to review the X-wing’s computer files for any potential schematics in the databanks, but so far the little droid had yet to locate a viable weak spot.

“You take the lead this time,” Wedge instructed Rogue Three, slipping behind the other’s drive trail. Ahead the dark silhouette of the Dreadnaught loomed before them, its remaining ion cannons beginning to track the X-wings for their upcoming pass. Its _brand new_ ion cannons, Wedge reminded himself: according to Bel Iblis’s briefing the Ogamni engineers had just finished refurbishing the Dreadnaughts’ entire weapons systems. Probably the reason Thrawn had waited until now to pull this little stunt. One final time it came back to Wedge: the battle at Sluis Van, providing flight cover for Luke and the _Falcon_ …hammering away at that hijacked Frigate, as they tried desperately to come up with some way of disabling the blasted thing…

And then, almost too quickly, it hit him. “Rogue Three, break off your attack!” he ordered, swinging his own X-wing up and away.

There was a brief burst of static on the other end; and then Rogue Three was twisting away himself, chasing behind after Wedge. “What it is?” he asked, sounding more than a little confused. “What’s wrong?”

Wedge ignored him. “Ogamni Control,” he barked into his comm, flipping the switch for the primary channel. “This is Rogue Leader. I have an urgent message for General Bel Iblis. Please respond.”

“Acknowledged, Rogue Leader,” Control’s voice came back promptly. “General Bel Iblis is occupied at the moment and cannot be disturbed.”

Wedge swore. “Fine,” he said. “Then get me Colonel Colchis.”

“Colonel Colchis is occupied and cannot be disturbed—”

“Listen,” Wedge interrupted, straining for patience. “This is Commander Wedge Antilles. I led the assault on the second Death Star and flew with Luke Skywalker at Yavin. Now _get me_ General Bel Iblis.”

There was a pause at the other end. “Stand by,” Control said, and the comm went silent.

One of his pilots whistled. “Way to drop the hammer, Wedge,” Rogue Seven chuckled. “What’s up?”

“I know a way we can stop them,” Wedge told them, “I think I know how we can finally disable those Dreadnaughts.” He looked up at the long dark shape of the nearest silhouette. “—If we’re not too late.”

* * *

“General Bel Iblis!” the communications officer called out. Bel Iblis looked over in his direction. “I’m sorry to interrupt, General, but I’ve got an X-wing pilot who insists on speaking with you. It’s Rogue Leader, sir. He says it’s urgent.”

“Antilles?” Bel Iblis said, stepping to the comm station. “Go ahead and put him through.”

There was a sudden burst of static at the other end. “This is Bel Iblis,” he said into the mic. “Go ahead, Commander.”

“General,” Antilles’ voice came back, before the speaker had barely finished clicking over. “Apologies for the lack of decorum, sir, but I know how we can stop those Dreadnaughts. We need to get some comms jammers going right away.”

“Commander Antilles, this is Colonel Colchis,” Colchis interjected. “What do you mean, you know how we can stop them?”

“Those are _Katana_ fleet Dreadnaughts,” Antilles explained impatiently. “Their entire ships’ systems are still routed through that slave-circuitry rig thing from forty years ago. Thrawn’s using his signal broadcast to remotely activate the circuits; _that’s_ how he’s controlling them.”

“We reached the same conclusion on this side,” Bel Iblis told him.

“Right—so if we can find a way to jam the broadcast, we should be able to block any remote commands. Thrawn used the same trick at the Nkllon raid a couple months ago.”

Colchis still wasn’t convinced. “And how do you know this?” he persisted.

Bel Iblis thought he might have heard an impatient sigh. “My squadron was at the battle at Sluis Van a few weeks back. We were attacked by one of our own ships then, too—it’s what helped me make the connection. During the fight Captain Solo figured out that the mole miners the Empire was using also operated by radio remote; that’s why the Imperials had had their jammers turned up when they’d stolen the things from Nkllon. The same _should_ be true here.”

“It’s worth a shot, anyway,” Bel Iblis decided for the both of them, tapping the comm officer on the shoulder. “Can you manage it, Lieutenant?”

The man considered. “I think so, General,” he said. “We should be able to flood the primary frequencies with enough feed to disrupt any communications.”

Bel Iblis looked over at Colchis, saw the man nod. “Do it,” he ordered.

The communications officer acknowledged and got to work, and the two of them hurried back to the main combat display. And crossed their fingers.

* * *

At first Pellaeon didn’t notice anything. They had agreed early on that the Grand Admiral would oversee the main battle itself, while Pellaeon attended to the _Chimaera_ ’s primary defenses and any Rebel ships that might be dispatched to harass them. So the bulk of his attention was on the three Assault Frigates, and the annoying ring of turbolaser fire that continued to harry the ship’s gunners, instead of on the wider fighting further out. But occasionally he would sneak a glance at the mid-range scanners for an update, and from what Pellaeon could tell everything was proceeding exactly as Thrawn had predicted…

“Admiral!” a voice suddenly exclaimed, down in the portside crew pit. “Sir, Comms is encountering some kind of static interference from the Rebel command station…”

“Yes, Lieutenant Tschel, thank you,” Thrawn said—and to Pellaeon’s ears his usually calm demeanor sounded almost…annoyed? “Inform them I noticed the same thing myself.”

“Sir?” Pellaeon frowned at him.

“A broad-frequency jamming,” Thrawn identified it. “My board started detecting it a few moments ago. Intended to blanket all localized communications—not unlike our own jammers, as it happens.”

“Yes, sir. I’m not sure I understand—”

“It’s quite obvious, Captain. With such jamming, the Rebels can block any in-system comms signals; including the _Chimaera_ ’s own signal on the _Katana_ frequency. Observe.” He indicated out the viewport.

Pellaeon wasn’t immediately sure what he was getting at. Then he began to see it: several of the Dreadnaughts, starting to slip out of their respective positions and drift away, like wayward chunks of derelict space debris. A moment later, he watched as the last of their ion cannons fell correspondingly silent. “Admiral—?”

“It seems our Corellian friend was able to figure out our little subterfuge sooner than I had anticipated,” Thrawn went on thoughtfully. “Very interesting. I may need to revisit my records on his artistic predilections.”

For another minute the two of them stood there; staring out at the floating, and now useless, hulks of _Katana_ Dreadnaughts. But only for a minute. “Ah, Admiral,” Pellaeon interjected into Thrawn’s meditations. He’d noticed that the Mon Cal Star Cruiser—its flank no longer in danger from ion bombardment—had shifted to join the three Assault Frigates that were already pounding the _Chimaera_ ’s shields. “That Star Cruiser is heading this way.”

Thrawn blinked aside his musings. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, of course you’re right. Prepare the ship for lightspeed, Captain. We’ll leave as soon as the hyperspace calculation is complete.”

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon passed on the order. There was one upside, at least: they wouldn’t have to listen to any of C’baoth’s usual gloating this round. Thrawn had instructed he be transferred to the _Death’s Head_ for a separate raid on Xa Fel, just before departing; and the Jedi Master seemed to take a perverse pleasure lately any time Thrawn’s schemes didn’t go according to plan. “Don’t worry, Admiral. We’ll be back soon enough.”

Glowing red eyes turned toward Pellaeon. “My pride is hardly wounded here, Captain,” Thrawn reminded him. “After all, causing the Rebels any actual damage was only our secondary objective. Do you have the final numbers on the ship’s battle performance profile?”

“The computer just finished its analysis,” Pellaeon said, checking his monitor and bringing up the report. “The new clone crewers performed at an across-the-board average of 54 percent better than the same baseline three months ago. The numbers for accuracy and coordination are even higher.”

“Excellent,” Thrawn nodded…and this time Pellaeon thought he might have detected a hint of relief in the Admiral’s tone. A relief Pellaeon could readily identify with. It was one thing to take a group of clones and flash-train them on simulators and war games; but at the end of the day there was no replacement for actual field experience.

Luckily, for now it seemed the Empire’s investment was paying off. “Excellent,” Thrawn said again. “There’s little reason for remaining, then. Is the lightspeed calculation complete?”

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon nodded.

“Then let’s be off. We’ll leave Bel Iblis to his victory for now. It may well be a long while before he enjoys another.”


	5. Smuggler Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His business with Luke Skywalker and the New Republic concluded, Talon Karrde struggles to keep his smuggling organization afloat while staying one step ahead of Thrawn’s death mark.

_"Our quarry?" Pellaeon repeated, frowning at the sensor data again. The routine sensor scans that had been done of the asteroid three hours earlier had come up negative, and nothing could have sneaked up on it since then without being detected. "With all due respect, sir, I don't see any indication that anything's out there."_

_"I don't either," Thrawn agreed. "But it's the only sizable cover available for nearly ten million kilometers around Myrkr. There's really no other place for Karrde to watch our operation from." —DARK FORCE RISING_

* * *

It was known as the Smugglers’ Graveyard, when people bothered calling it anything at all: a fifteen-kilometer stretch of wreckage and space debris, scattered across an isolated quadrant of the Outer Rim and far from the typical hyperspace routes any respectable traveler would consider. In academic circles scholars debated whether it was the remains of some great battle, an interstellar conflict fought long before the founding of the Old Republic; or instead just the forgotten junkyard of an unknown civilization, an alien species lost to the annals of time. But the smugglers who made use of the place cared only that it was safe from the prying eyes of the local authorities. At least, most of the time.

Talon Karrde sat at the _Wild Karrde_ ’s pilot station, staring out at the swirling mash floating outside. It was Mara, of all people, who had first introduced him to the Graveyard, a last-minute hideaway on a botched smuggling run five months ago…and it had become one of his organization’s standard rendezvous points ever since. For himself, Karrde had always found something strangely soothing—even beautiful—about it: like an assortment of Sluissi flame sculptures, dancing and drifting together in a kind of bizarre alien rhythm.

For the rest of the crew, the Graveyard just gave them the willies.

“I still don’t get what we’re doing here,” Aves mumbled from where he was sitting beside Karrde in the co-pilot seat.

With a suppressed sigh Karrde turned away from the viewport. “I should think it would be obvious,” he told Aves patiently. “If even half the reports coming out of Coruscant are to be believed, the Republic’s about to have a very big and very messy war on its hands. The demand for bacta is only going to increase within the next few months—and the price along with it.”

“No, I get that,” Aves said, waving a hand at the view. “I mean what we’re doing _here_. This place always gives me the creeps.”

“Ah.” Karrde gave the man one of his famous sardonic smiles. “The Graveyard may have its unsettling qualities, I’ll admit, but it also presents a certain charm. And it can’t be beat for privacy.”

“Neither can Rishi or Trogan or half-a-dozen other spots,” Aves retorted. “And this doesn’t offer much room to maneuver in the event of a firefight.”

“Are we expecting one?”

Aves snorted. “You tell me. Dankin said the last time he checked, the reward for our whereabouts is up to fifty-thousand. You ever know a Rodian to pass on a payday that size?”

“I’ve known Ando to,” Karrde said. “He’s a businessman, not a bounty hunter. Ando knows he can make three times as much selling us bacta as he can selling us out to the Empire.”

“I don’t know, Karrde,” Aves tried one last time. “Mara wouldn’t like it.”

Mara. For a moment Karrde’s mind drifted to Coruscant, where Mara was currently convalescing under the care of the New Republic’s medical techs. “Perhaps you’re right,” he conceded, bringing his thoughts back to the present. “But Mara isn’t here. And the matter’s not up for debate.”

“Okay, sure,” Aves said, even as a light started flashing on his board. “I hope you’re right, anyway,” he added. “Ando’s just arrived.”

Karrde looked up, and outside there was a flicker of pseudomotion as another ship exited hyperspace. “Corellian Gunship, looks like,” Aves noted, as the bucket-nosed silhouette shifted its course and started heading into the junk field. “I didn’t know Ando could afford one of those.”

“I didn’t either,” Karrde admitted, running a quick sensor scan of the approaching ship. “Looks like he’s been having a little fun with it, too. I’m picking up modified signatures on at least four of the weapons’ emplacements.”

“Heavily modified?”

“Relax, Aves. If it comes to it, the _Wild Karrde_ can hold its own in a fight.” He pointed out the viewport. “Look, they’re signaling us.”

Outside they could see the Gunship’s front running lights begin to flicker. Aves reached a hand down beneath the main console and flashed the _Wild Karrde_ ’s own lights in response; and slowly the other ship swung toward them. “I suppose we should say hello,” Karrde suggested, switching on the comm. “This is the _Wild Karrde_. You’re early, Ando.”

“Not early enough, it appears,” the jittery Rodian voice came back. “I hope we didn’t keep you waiting long.”

“No more than an hour,” Karrde assured him. “I like to keep my people on their toes. If you don’t mind my saying: that’s quite the lady you’ve got there. I don’t recall you owning a Gunship before.”

“That is because I didn’t,” Ando said, and even in the guttural Rodian language Karrde could hear the pride in his voice. “I bought it off a Gotal a few weeks back; at a good price, too. The poor fellow was in debt—to the Hutts, of all people—and could not wait to sell.”

“Must have been expensive.”

“I got it at a good price,” Ando repeated—but he sounded defensive to Karrde’s ear. “Speaking of which, do you have the money?”

That was Ando, all right: always down to business. “We have the money,” Karrde confirmed. “Do you have the bacta?”

“Three-hundred containers, as we agreed. Incidentally, Karrde, this stuff was not easy to get my hands on. The Empire has put a moratorium on any bacta sales ever since Thrawn went public with his new clones.”

“Have they, now?” Karrde sent Aves a smug smile. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fully compensated for your trouble. There may even be a bonus in it, if you can promise to get your hands on more.”

“How much of a ‘bonus?’”

Karrde paused. Something in the other’s voice just then… “How much of a bonus are you thinking?” he asked carefully.

“I am a businessman, Karrde,” Ando explained. “I do business. You know this. But also I hear things, you understand? Word in the fringe is that the Empire has offered fifty-thousand credits for your head. I figure any bonus you can offer should at least double that.”

On Karrde’s monitor, one of the screens began beeping: the sensor report for those weapons emplacements, detecting increased power levels. “Ando,” he warned, putting an edge of menace behind his tone. “I hope you’re not trying to strong-arm me.”

“I am simply stating facts,” Ando said, “as a businessman. I can make fifty-thousand for turning you in. How much are you offering me not to?”

“Uh, Karrde—” Aves coughed.

“I see it,” Karrde muttered. There could be no doubt now; Ando was definitely firing up his Gunship’s turbolasers. “Listen to me very carefully,” he said into the comm. “You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to threaten me, and you _certainly_ don’t want to tangle with the _Wild Karrde_.”

“I had feared you might say so,” Ando sighed. He chittered something unintelligible in Rodian…and suddenly around a floating hunk of nearby fuselage swerved two nasty Z-95 headhunters, their shields up and their weapons primed. They were followed by a pair of old assault shuttles, scarred and beaten-up but looking none the worse for all that; while further behind appeared a battlecruiser of a make Karrde didn’t recognize.

Aves yet out a startled yelp. “Where in blazes did _they_ come from?”

“They have been lurking in the Graveyard for the past two hours,” Ando said, and this time it was the unmistakable sound of satisfied smugness that Karrde heard. “Waiting for you. You didn’t really think my men would be so foolish as to permit you to show at a rendezvous first?”

“No, I suppose not,” Karrde allowed, looking out the viewport at the jumble of drive glows bearing down on them. He hadn’t misspoken before: the _Wild Karrde_ could definitely hold its own in a fight, its heavily modified turbolasers packing way more punch than either its manufacturers had ever intended or the authorities usually allowed. But it wasn’t a warship, and couldn’t take on half-a-dozen opponents by itself. “I assume this is the part where we offer our unconditional surrender?”

“Unless you prefer a firefight. You will now shut down your engines and prepare to be boarded.”

“Naturally.” He reached down beneath the console display. “Before we hand ourselves over, Ando, I’m curious. Your men out there—did they arrive before or after my own people did?”

He flashed the _Wild Karrde_ ’s running lights a second time; and now it was not five or six, but a full dozen freighter-sized craft that came bursting out of the debris. Like a swarm of angry insects they began converging on the Gunship, circling round with their own weapons hot and ready. And it was Ando’s turn to yelp. “What in the Empire—!”

“Surely you remember the rest of my organization,” Karrde said, sitting back in his seat. “The _Etherway_ , the _Starry Ice_. You didn’t really think I’dlet _you_ show up at a rendezvous first, did you?”

“Karrde—”

“I’m sorry we won’t be doing more business in the future,” Karrde interrupted. “Give my regards to the Imperials the next time you see them. Goodbye, Ando.”

He cut off the Rodian’s protests with a flick of the comm. By this point the rest of his group had finished clearing their hiding spots, and were closing in on Ando’s forces on either flank. They were all there, all right: Karrde could easily make out the familiar shapes of the _Etherway_ and _Amanda Fallow_ in the lead, with the _Lastri Ort_ covering their rear; on the farther side hovered the _Dawn Beat_ , its angular silhouette escorted at either end by a couple of Skipray blastboats. Even as he sat watching, the space between them suddenly lit up with flashes of laser fire.

Karrde was suddenly aware of Aves looking at him sideways. “You’re feeling pretty sure of yourself right now, aren’t you?” the other muttered.

“Maybe a little,” Karrde said. He waved a hand at the scene outside. “Are you still going to tell me Mara wouldn’t like _this_?”

Aves didn’t answer; and really, what could he say? “Looks like the _Etherway_ is signaling us,” he said instead, pointing at the light flashing on Karrde’s board.

Karrde leaned forward and switched the comm back on. “What is it, Torve?”

“And a friendly hello to you, too,” Torve said dryly. “I think we’ve got things pretty much handled here. Lachton and I will deal with Ando and then meet you at the second rendezvous. What do you want us to do with your Rodian pal when we’re finished?”

“Don’t destroy his ship,” Karrde advised. “Send Chin with a twenty-man boarding crew; Ando’s still got that shipment of bacta he owes us. As for Ando himself… don’t harm him either, I suppose. Once you’re all safely away, transmit a mayday to the Imperial base at Tangrene. I’m sure they’d like to help out one of their citizens in need.”

“And maybe punish any violations of the Imperial moratorium on bacta sales?” Torve suggested.

Karrde shrugged. “That’s really up to them. Aves and I will meet you at Xyquine when you’re done.”

“Xyquine, got it. _Etherway_ out.”

There was a click as he turned off the comm, and then the _Etherway_ burst off to rejoin the _Starry Ice_. “So it’s to Xyquine now, is it?” Aves asked.

“Xyquine it is,” Karrde confirmed. From the viewport outside came a bright flare of detonation, as the first of the assault shuttles exploded; with an effort he turned himself away. “I’ve already got a buyer lined up who’s quite eager to get his hands on some premium black-market bacta. And he’s willing to pay considerably more than fifty-thousand for it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’d like to learn more about my writing, including a science fiction retelling of The Hobbit, follow me on Twitter [@NobNesbit](https://twitter.com/nobnesbit) or check out my website: [http://nobnesbit.com.](http://nobnesbit.com)


	6. Imperial Interlude - Dynasts of Honoghr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grand Admiral Thrawn and the Chimaera return to Honoghr to begin their interrogation of the traitor Khabarakh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. If you’d like to learn more about my writing, including another Star Wars story featuring Obi-wan and Anakin and a science fiction retelling of _The Hobbit,_ follow me on Twitter [@NobNesbit](https://twitter.com/nobnesbit) or check out my website: [http://nobnesbit.com](https://nobnesbit.com/)

_Ovkhevam looked at the younger alien. “Khabarakh clan Kihm’bar is a fugitive from the Noghri people. Even now we have many ships searching for him.”_

_“Of course,” Luke said dryly. With Grand Admiral Thrawn threatening to subject Khabarakh to a complete Imperial interrogation, it had been vital that the young commando “escape” from custody and drop out of sight. It was equally vital that knowledge of the Empire’s betrayal be passed on to the Noghri commando teams scattered around the galaxy. The two objectives dovetailed rather nicely._ — _THE LAST COMMAND_

* * *

The shuttle drifted down to the polished deck-plates of the _Chimaera_ ’s hangar bay, settling with a barely visible bump. From where he stood watching beside Thrawn, Pellaeon bit at his tongue as the twin rows of stormtroopers moved purposefully into their positions on either side of the shuttle’s entry ramp, blaster rifles held high against their chests. It was an impressive little piece of parade-ground exercise, Pellaeon had to admit…and totally pointless, in his professional opinion. This kind of thing was entirely wasted on Noghri.

His gaze wandered past the shuttle, out beyond the boxy boundary of the entry port where the brown and rather dire-looking horizon of Honoghr could be seen rotating below. Appearing every bit the doomed world it actually was. Dimly he wondered the result if the Noghri ever managed to figure out what had really happened to that primitive little planet of theirs. _Or_ if someone ever revealed the Empire’s role in keeping it that way.

Without thinking he cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder. Less than five meters away Rukh was posted in his usual spot behind Thrawn, his normally large eyes narrow and watchful and darting everywhere. But Pellaeon wasn’t looking at him. Ten meters behind Rukh stood Master C’baoth, regarding the whole affair with a rather bemused expression plastered on his arrogant face. C’baoth, who seemed to somehow know even more about the Noghri’s past than Pellaeon did.

Apparently his glance hadn’t been surreptitious enough. “Ignore him, Captain,” Thrawn murmured, and Pellaeon realized the Admiral was giving him a surreptitious look of his own. With an effort Pellaeon returned his attention back to the shuttle.

 _Besides_ , he reminded himself, it wasn’t as if Thawn hadn’t taken precautions. Attending on Rukh’s other side, his own blaster rifle held likewise in its parade-ground position, was a stormtrooper with an ysalamir nutrient frame strapped to his back.

The hiss of released steam brought Pellaeon back to the matter at hand. The shuttle’s ramp was already lowering, its hydraulic valves puffing on either side, and Pellaeon could see the shapes of dark figures moving around inside. Thrawn gestured; and with Pellaeon on one side, a silent Rukh on the other, and the ysalamir stormtrooper following in their wake, they headed down the line.

But to Pellaeon’s surprise it wasn’t the commando Khabarakh who was brought stumbling out. Instead a long procession of older, darker-skinned Noghri filed down the ramp, dressed in the elaborate tunics and half-shawls of clan leaders. The dynasts, if Pellaeon recognized them correctly from that ridiculous ceremony in Nystao a month ago. He felt a little frown crease his lips. Why had the entire dynast assemblage bothered coming up in person?

“Lord Grand Admiral,” the first dynast greeted, bowing so low his head nearly touched the deck. “It is a pleasure to see you returned to Honoghr once again.”

“You may rise, Dynast Vor’corkh,” Thrawn told him. If he was surprised to see them, it didn’t show in his voice. “I have come only to claim the traitor Khabarakh. There was no need for the dynasts to bring him themselves.”

“We wished to pay the respect and homage our lord deserves,” Vor’corkh answered.

“Of course you did,” Thrawn said, a touch dryly. His eyes scanned the crowd of dynasts before moving up to the shuttle’s belly. “Tell me: where is Khabarakh?”

A ripple of embarrassment passed among the dynasts, and Pellaeon noticed Vor’corkh fidget visibly. “We confess we do not know, my lord. Ten days ago Khabarakh clan Kihm’bar escaped the chains of his public shaming in Nystao, and with a stolen ship fled Honoghr. We have come to inform you, and to seek your forgiveness.”

“Escaped!” C’baoth snorted from somewhere behind Thrawn. “Your tame Noghri find new ways in which to fail, Grand Admiral. It is comfort at least to learn they do so not only when on assignments of my interest.” Vor’corkh’s eyes flashed angrily towards him—

“Peace, Master C’baoth,” Thrawn soothed. He was studying Vor’corkh and the others carefully, Pellaeon saw, assessing them with those measuring red eyes. Their shame and discomfiture seemed obvious, even to someone as unfamiliar with Noghri psychology as Pellaeon. But there was something else about them, something that he couldn’t quite place… “You say Khabarakh escaped,” Thrawn continued. “How?”

“Not without aid,” Vor’corkh assured quickly. “He was assisted by several members of the clan Kihm’bar.”

“I see,” Thrawn said. He cast another look over the dynasts. “Is that then why Dynast Irk’haim has declined to join you?”

That was it. When they’d last come to Honoghr there had been thirteen dynasts to greet Thrawn at Nystao. But this time only twelve had filed out of the shuttle. The dynast for Khabarakh’s clan was missing. “The entire clan Kihm’bar has been held in disgrace,” one of the other dynasts spoke up. “There they shall remain, until the names of the perpetrators are revealed.”

“A just punishment,” Thrawn agreed—but Pellaeon thought he detected something else in his voice, a slight hint of displeasure. “I trust a pursuit has been organized?”

“We have dispatched three teams of Noghri commandos to capture Khabarakh, and to return him to Honoghr for justice,” Vor’corkh offered, in what Pellaeon assumed was supposed to be a conciliatory manner. “They will report as soon as he has been acquired. He will not long evade us.”

C’baoth snorted again. “Three teams? And are these the same Noghri commandos that have proven over and over that they are unable to bring me my Jedi? You would do as well to send children instead.”

A couple of the dynasts hissed. “Even Noghri children make for deadly warriors,” Vor’corkh spat at C’baoth. “We have vanquished many of the Emperor’s greatest enemies. If you would care for a demonstration—”

Thrawn held up a hand for quiet. “As it happens,” he said, and the words seemed to be proffered reluctantly, as if pulled out of him by force, “I agree with Master C’baoth in this regard. Three teams will hardly be sufficient—Khabarakh is, after all, a skilled Imperial operative himself. I will therefore instruct one of the Empire’s Strike Cruisers reassigned, to join your commandos in their pursuit.”

One of the dynasts coughed. “That will not be necessary, my lord,” he interjected. “Our warriors will find Khabarakh, we assure you!”

“It is the desire of the clan dynasts that this humiliation be redressed on our own,” Vor’corkh elaborated. “As is the desire of all Noghri people. We cannot accept such a generous gift.”

“I’m sure that you can’t,” Thrawn said, and now that tone of displeasure was clear. “I will nevertheless have one of our own cruisers reassigned, just the same. To provide logistical support,” he offered, “and whatever other assistance your commandos might need.”

Vor’corkh bowed. “As you wish, my lord.”

Thrawn was silent for another moment. “Very well,” he said at last. “Then you may now return to Honoghr. All of you.”

The dynasts blinked, and to Pellaeon’s eye they seemed surprised at being dismissed so readily. Then, with Vor’corkh’s lead, they bowed again; and one-by-one turned and headed back into the shuttle. “A Strike Cruiser?” Pellaeon murmured. “Is that really necessary, Admiral?”

“You think perhaps it’s a tad overkill?” Thrawn suggested politely.

Pellaeon hesitated. “I’ll admit this Khabarakh has proven a bit slippery,” he said, watching the dynasts shuffle up the ramp. “But three commando teams and a Strike Cruiser seem a bit much to hunt down a single Noghri. Particularly at a time like this.”

“There’s something about this that doesn’t quite fit, Captain,” Thrawn said softly. His own eyes, Pellaeon noticed, were likewise studying the departing dynasts. “Consider: Khabarakh already has that unexplained history involving his missing month on Kashyyyk. Now, days before an interrogation regarding said history, he magically eludes his Noghri guards and escapes? It’s too intriguing to dismiss.”

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon said. “Will you be conducting any inquiries into the clan Kihm’bar while we’re here? Perhaps we can discover the identities of whomever helped Khabarakh escape.”

“Interrogate an entire clan?” Thrawn shook his head. “No. That would gain us nothing. The perpetrators themselves obviously won’t speak, and family ties are far too strong among Noghri for them to betray one of their own. Fortunately we have another option available to us.”

“You mean the decon droid we left in Khabarakh’s village?”

“Precisely. It’s very possible the droid recorded something that may be of use to us. Have Surveillance wait till nightfall, then send a shuttle down to retrieve it.”

“Yes, sir,” Pellaeon said. The last of the dynasts had finally made it inside their own shuttle; and with a rising whine of repulsors it lifted up and started turning back toward the hangar port. “Where do you think he’ll go?”

“Khabarakh? That’s difficult to say. Any of the usual commando safehouses will of course be closed to him. Depending on the true nature of his relationship with the Wookiees, it’s possible he may return to Kashyyyk. Don’t worry, Captain. Wherever he’s gone, our forces will find him.”

The shuttle cleared the atmospheric barrier and blasted off toward the planet’s surface. Thrawn and Pellaeon turned around—

To find C’baoth standing directly in front of them, a wide and condescending smile behind his beard. “Master C’baoth?” Thrawn raised an eyebrow. “You wish to add something to our discussion?”

That smile got a little wider. “I do,” he said. “It seems, Grand Admiral, your Noghri continue to disappoint you; and you, in turn, continue to disappoint me. An escaped fugitive! More failures like this, and I may soon need to select someone else to lead my Empire.”

“Perhaps,” Thrawn said, overlooking the reference to _C’baoth’s_ Empire _._ “But that was not what you wished to add.”

C’baoth studied him from beneath his bushy brows. “No,” he conceded. “Tell me: what hope do the Noghri have of capturing my Jedi, when they cannot even hold on to one of their own?”

“The Noghri have been uncharacteristically ineffective when it’s come to the Organa Solo assignment, I’ll admit,” Thrawn said. “And I have communicated my displeasure accordingly. They’re still some of the best soldiers the Empire has to offer.”

“And so oh well, they’re trying their hardest, is that it?”

“I have communicated my displeasure,” Thrawn repeated. “Both to the commandos themselves and to their dynasts directly. What else would you have me do?”

“Accept that a different strategy is needed.” C’baoth’s eyes moved past Thrawn’s shoulder, where the diminutive figure of Rukh stood silently. “The Noghri have been given their chance, and failed. It is time for that supposedly brilliant mind of yours to concoct a new approach. Surely among our new clones there is someone capable of getting me what you promised?”

“In forty-four years the Noghri have never once failed an assignment,” Thrawn insisted, “they’ve been promised one last shot…” He paused. “But I will take your suggestion under advisement, Master C’baoth.”

“See that you do,” C’baoth urged, his tone deep with warning. “Because the time may come when I will not be content to simply ignore your failures any longer. When I will be forced instead to take matters into my own hands.”

He spun around in a swirl of robes and began marching toward the aft lift. “I think we may have just had a dressing down, Admiral,” Pellaeon noted, once C’baoth was out of earshot.

“Yes,” Thrawn agreed dryly, “apparently our esteemed Jedi Master no longer has faith in our abilities to bring him his Jedi.” His eyes glowed a little more fiercely. “And yet, he may be right. The Noghri have failed too many times when it’s come to this particular task.”

Pellaeon glanced over his shoulder, hoping they were too far away for Rukh to hear. “They’ve never had to go up against Jedi,” Pellaeon reminded him.

“A fair point,” Thrawn allowed. “Still, the Noghri are only one tool. We have many available to us in this regard.”

Like Delta Source? But Pellaeon didn’t ask, and Thrawn didn’t say. “For the time being, however, we have other matters to attend to,” the Admiral continued. “Return to the bridge, Captain. We’ll remain in orbit long enough for Surveillance to retrieve the decon droid, but then I’m afraid we have more important concerns than Skywalker and Organa Solo. Our war against the Rebels awaits.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Small continuity error: This tale is originally based on an offhand line from The Last Command, in which Pellaeon reflects on "that awkward scene a month ago, when that painfully apologetic envoy from the Noghri dynasts had come aboard with news that the suspected traitor Khabarakh had escaped." Despite 100% knowing what the word "envoy" meant, for some reason I interpreted this as "delegation of" rather than "envoy from." If such mistakes bother you, just imagine these are representatives from the dynasts rather than the dynasts themselves.


	7. A Diplomatic Mission, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Assigned to a final mission by Mon Mothma before the birth of her twins, Leia is dispatched to the planet Obroa-skai to persuade the Obroans to join the New Republic, now that the threat of Thrawn’s clone soldiers has been laid bare. Part 1 of 5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’d like to learn more about my writing, including another Star Wars story featuring Obi-wan and Anakin and a science fiction retelling of The Hobbit, follow me on Twitter [@NobNesbit](https://twitter.com/nobnesbit) or check out my website: [http://nobnesbit.com.](http://nobnesbit.com)

_Leia looked out the cockpit canopy at the Imperial Star Destroyer and eight Dreadnaughts arrayed against the beleaguered planet ahead. Clustering around it like mynocks around an unshielded power generator. It was to have been her last diplomatic mission before settling in to await the birth of her twins: a quick trip to calm a nervous Filvian government and demonstrate the New Republic’s determination to protect the systems in this sector. —THE LAST COMMAND_

* * *

It was the sound of the gentle beeping from the console in front of her that prodded Leia Organa Solo out of her light doze. “I’m aware, I’m awake,” she said, rubbing away any lingering vestiges of sleep and opening her eyes. Not that there was much to see at the moment; just the twisting blue swirls of hyperspace, still flitting past the _Millennium Falcon_ ’s cockpit canopy. “How long till we break out?” Leia asked, stretching as best she could in the confines of the copilot chair.

From his spot beside her, Chewbacca tapped a finger at the timer on the main display: one minute. “Got it,” she acknowledged, switching on the ship’s intercom. “Threepio—are you there? Chewie says we’ll be coming out of hyperspace in less than a minute. Why don’t you go get strapped in?”

“Of course, Your Highness,” See-Threepio’s response came back promptly. Promptly, and with none of the injured pride Leia would have expected…none of the pride he usually put on, after four days condemned to the aft living sections.

Covertly as possible Leia cast a side-look at the seat next to her. Chewbacca didn’t typically exhibit the same dislike towards droids that Han did, either generally or at Threepio specifically; and Leia had always secretly hoped that all the effort he’d invested assembling Threepio back together on Cloud City might have created some sort of bond between the two of them. But there were still rare occasions when even Chewie managed to lose his last nerve with the droid’s particular idiosyncrasies. Particularly whenever Threepio suggested potential improvements to the _Falcon_ ’s sensor transceiver system.

Chewbacca seemed to notice Leia looking at him. “It’s nothing,” she assured him before he could propose a question, moving to strap herself in as well. The restraints pressed tight across the bulge of her stomach, and for a moment Leia rested a hand on her pregnant belly, trying to soothe the pair of tiny lives she could feel surging within. It was a strange experience, having something growing inside you— _two_ somethings, if the doctors on Coruscant and her own maternal instincts were to be believed. _Just a few more weeks_ , she reminded them, reaching out with the Force to touch at the simple yet blossoming little minds.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a second ping from her console. “Ten seconds,” she reported, reading the timer off the display. Beside her Chewbacca reached a hairy arm over and wrapped his fingers around the _Falcon_ ’s hyperdrive levers. The timer counted down to zero— “Now, Chewie.”

Chewbacca pulled the levers back, and the blue swirls outside melted into starlines that settled into millions of stars. Stars, and the distant orb of a green-white planet directly ahead. “No, I’ve never been to Obroa-skai before,” Leia answered Chewbacca’s question . “I know Mon Mothma sent a delegation here to petition the Obroans a couple years ago, when we first founded the New Republic. But I wasn’t included in that initial group.”

Chewbacca nodded and growled another question. “I don’t know that we _will_ be any more successful this time around,” Leia admitted, feeling three days’ worth of Provisional Council arguments bubbling back up. “But Mon Mothma felt we had to try. There’s a good chance the events of the past month went a long way toward convincing the Obroans that the Empire is still a real threat.”

Chewbacca didn’t respond, and Leia knew what he was thinking: with these new clone soldiers at Thrawn’s command, it shouldn’t be hard convincing _anyone_ the Empire was a threat. “Don’t worry, Chewie,” Leia continued, laying a hand on his arm. “It’ll be all right.”

Chewbacca remained silent—reflecting, no doubt, on their last diplomatic mission together. But unlike that nearly-disastrous trip to Honoghr, the three of them weren’t exactly traveling alone this time around. Glancing out the cockpit she could just make out the elongated noses and extended wingtips of their X-wing escort, following in the _Falcon_ ’s wake around and behind. Leia felt a small smile touch her lips. Han would probably have preferred that Ackbar assign them an entire task force, or at least a Star Cruiser or two…but for herself Leia had more faith in the pilots of Rogue Squadron than the entire remainder of the New Republic fleet.

Besides—she reminded herself darkly—at the rate Thrawn was going, the Republic could find better uses for its Star Cruisers these days. The thought wiped the smile off her face.

“Incoming ship,” the comm in front of her suddenly crackled. “This being Obroa-skai Space Control. Please identify for yourself and stating your business.”

Leia flipped a switch on her board. “This is Councilor Leia Organa Solo aboard the _Millennium Falcon_ ,” she said. “I have a conference scheduled with Premier K’cheng to discuss Obroa-skai’s membership into the New Republic.”

“Your meeting is known,” the voice at the other end confirmed. “You are being instructed to proceed to hangar field southside; beacon on your screen will guide in. Premier K’cheng shall be available for greeting when you land.”

“Thank you,” Leia said, as Chewbacca’s display started flashing with the pertinent signal. “Please inform the Premier I look forward to speaking with him.”

“Your message will be passed on. Kindly do not deviate from designated course.” A small pause. “And welcome to Obroa-skai, Councilor Solo. Control is out.”

The comm clicked into silence. “They seem friendly enough,” Leia commented.

Chewbacca snorted. “No, I’m not being sarcastic,” Leia insisted, wishing yet again she’d had the proper time lately to dedicate to her Jedi training. Even with her years of diplomatic experience, both in the Alderaanian Royal Court and later as a Councilor for the New Republic, Leia still sometimes had trouble getting a read on an alien mind she was unfamiliar with. That kind of trouble might well be the difference between success and failure in a negotiation like this; and the Force-inspired intuition that Luke always seemed able to conjure could definitely prove useful in such situations.

On the other hand, Luke’s intuition hadn’t exactly helped them during that mission to Bimmisaari a few months ago. Maybe Leia was better off trusting her own instincts, after all.

As Chewbacca began drifting them into their assigned approach Leia took another lazy look out the canopy. Now that they were close enough to the planetary orbit she could make out nearly two-dozen ships gathered above the exosphere, a mishmash of freighters and star cruiser in various stages of coming-and-going. Most were of a model Leia didn’t recognize, but she did spot a handful of familiar shapes: a couple of streamlined personal yachts from the Sorosuub variety, plus at least one refurbished Corellian Corvette that made her think back to her own diplomatic ship, the _Tantive IV_.

And approaching behind the Corvette— “Chewie, those three ships angling on the port side,” she pointed. “The ones that resemble Sienar fighters. Have you ever encountered that design before?”

Chewbacca looked where she indicated and shook his head. He growled out a possibility. “Maybe,” Leia allowed. According to the sensor monitor, the three dots were on a course that would put them at a direct line for the _Falcon_ , with an intercept estimate of two minutes. “They’re coming in awfully fast. That formation looks a little tight for escort duty, don’t you think?”

Apparently she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. “Ah, _Falcon_?” the ship’s comm crackled again, and the voice of Wedge Antilles came sputtering through. “Any idea what those three Skiprays are doing?”

So that’s what they were. “Chewie and I were just discussing the same thing, Wedge,” Leia told him. She’d heard of Skipray blastboats: Han had mentioned them a time or two when discussing his old smuggling days, and according to Luke Karrde maintained a couple for running interference in his own smuggling operation. “Chewie thinks it might be our official escort.”

“Because an entire X-wing squadron isn’t escort enough?” Wedge suggested dryly. Besides, if the Obroans _had_ dispatched a welcoming entourage, why hadn’t they mentioned anything on the comm just now? “Maybe. I wonder if—”

Leia felt a sudden flicker in the Force. “Look out!” she grabbed at Chewbacca, just as a flash of laser fire shot out from turret atop the nearest Skipray. But the Wookiee’s reflexes were as quick as ever. Immediately he threw the ship into a sharp spin, weaving the _Falcon_ between the incoming blasts. “Wedge—”

“We’re on it,” Wedge’s voice came back, suddenly tight. “Rogue Squadron, form up. Lock S foils into attack position; move to assault pattern delta on my mark…”

“Hold it a sec, Rogue Leader,” Rogue Two interrupted. “We’ve got three new boogies coming in. Vector at one-seven-seven mark eight.”

“I’m picking up another two on my scope,” Rogue Seven added. “Moving into position behind us.”

“It’s an enclosure maneuver,” Leia realized, glancing out the canopy. She could indeed see three other Skiprays coming in on their right, with two more blips converging on their rear. “Shields up,” she said, quite unnecessarily; a quick look revealed Chewbacca already had switched them on. She turned to look at him. “I think we’re in trouble, Chewie. Do want me to take one of the quads?”

Chewbacca shook his head, his focus on the controls…but behind those determined blue eyes Leia could see the sudden concern hidden there. The _Falcon_ ’s gun wells didn’t have nearly the kind of shielding the cockpit did, and Leia knew Chewbacca would never forgive himself if something happened to her.

Outside a new pair of laser blasts flashed past the canopy, one of them making enough contact to send a shudder running through the ship. “Your Highness!” the intercom sputtered with Threepio’s wailing. “I do believe we’re under attack!”

 _I’m glad you’re here to tell us these things_ , Leia could almost hear Han’s voice in her head. “Just stay strapped in, Threepio,” she snapped back, before returning her attention to the main display. Wedge had moved most of his squadron into a screen-cover formation designed to engage the incoming Skiprays, while Rogues Eleven and Twelve had been assigned to what Leia assumed was back-up position along Chewbacca’s trail. But one of the Skiprays appeared to have slipped past the screen; and at the moment was bearing down hard atop the _Falcon_ like an angry insect, its laser cannons blasting away. A second shot made contact, causing the ship to shake from another shudder. “Wedge!”

“Copy, _Falcon_ ,” Wedge’s tense response came back. “Eleven, Twelve, where are you??”

“Doing our best, Wedge,” Eleven replied, sounding even more tense than Wedge did. “We’ve got two boogies tying up our rear.”

Chewbacca roared in frustration, just as a third shudder ran through the cockpit followed by a fourth. “Hang on, Chewie,” Leia urged, ignoring the red lines that started flickering on her screen. She knew the kind of beating the ship could take—had seen it first-hand, during that elaborate escape from Hoth all those years ago—but even the _Millennium Falcon_ had its limits. “Deflector shields just dropped below fifty percent,” she told him, as a new line flashed across the display.

Chewbacca suddenly threw the ship into another spin, cutting hard to starboard and then diving in an effort to shake their pursuer. “He’s still on us,” Leia warned, studying the rear sensor. The Skipray was almost directly on top of them now, its laser fire splattering off the _Falcon_ ’s hull. “Upper deflectors at ten percent. I don’t think we can take another hit!”

Without warning Chewbacca flipped the _Falcon_ over, presenting its fully-shielded underside to their attacker. In the same motion he pressed the switch that released the hidden belly laser cannon: and grabbing at the controls took aim and opened fire. The first salvo caught the Skipray completely unaware, sparking against its own forward deflectors; another salvo slashed across the main cockpit as it tried jittering away to its left. It was the third salvo that finally punched through, finding the ventral stabilizer fin and blasting it into a fine dust. Chewbacca let out a triumphant whoop as the Skipray suddenly abandoned its target and veered off. “Good shooting, _Falcon_ ,” Wedge added over the comm.

“Thanks, Wedge.” But the congratulation was short-lived, and they both knew it: already another Skipray could be seen on the sensors, closing on their starboard. They weren’t out of it yet. “Wedge, we’ve picked up a second tail,” Leia told him, peeking out the canopy at the approaching silhouette. “Any chance you—”

She was interrupted as a fiery explosion lit up the sky, taking the Skipray with it. “What was that?” Leia blurted, scanning the surrounding area.

“Not sure,” Wedge started; but Chewbacca pointed at the display, a grave expression replacing the concerned one on his face. A new series of blips had appeared on their scope, coming up quickly on the _Falcon_ ’s other side. Blips that Leia recognized only too well.

TIE fighters.

Leia swallowed, staring at the new signals. They were TIE fighters, all right; she would know those H-shaped silhouettes anywhere. Behind them, looming like a gray shadow, was the equally-familiar arrowhead of an Imperial Star Destroyer, fresh out of hyperspace. “Wedge, we’ve got a new problem,” she hissed into the comm. The stars spun around her as Chewbacca swung onto a new vector that would steer them away from the TIEs. “Star Destroyer inbound, plus at least one full squadron of TIE fighters.” She paused, but there was nothing to be done. “We’re going to have to abort the mission. Can you get the rest of your squadron out of here before…”

But Leia was interrupted again, this time by an entirely new voice that came stuttering over the comm. “Attention, _Millennium Falcon_ ,” it said, even as the TIEs went roaring past the canopy and opened fire on the fleeing Skiprays. “This is Captain Harbid aboard the Star Destroyer _Death’s Head_. Do you require assistance?”


	8. A Diplomatic Mission, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Escorted safely to Obroa-skai by the Star Destroyer Death’s Head, Leia and Chewbacca arrive planetside to begin negotiations. But the unexpected appearance of the Imperials suggests these negotiations will not proceed as smoothly as Leia had hoped. Part 2 of 5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’d like to learn more about my writing, including another Star Wars story featuring Obi-wan and Anakin and a science fiction retelling of The Hobbit, follow me on Twitter [@NobNesbit](https://twitter.com/nobnesbit) or check out my website: [http://nobnesbit.com.](http://nobnesbit.com)

_“So why_ does _she do it?” Leia demanded, not really interested in talking about Mon Mothma._

_“Because with everything she does, there are lives hanging in the balance,” Bel Iblis said quietly. “And she’s terrified of trusting anyone else with those lives.”_

_Leia stared at him…but even as she opened her mouth to deny it, all the pieces of her life these past few years fell suddenly into place. All the diplomatic missions Mon Mothma had insisted she go on, no matter what the personal cost in lost Jedi training and strained family life. All the trust she’d invested in Ackbar and a few others; all the responsibility that had been shifted onto fewer and fewer shoulders. —THE LAST COMMAND_

* * *

With a reluctance that was only slightly obvious on his typically stoic face, Chewbacca followed after their TIE escort down into the Obroan atmosphere, guiding the ship through the planetary cloud cover towards the landing field waiting below. Somewhere further behind them, Leia knew, were Wedge and the rest of the Rogue Squadron X-wings, trailing the _Falcon_ closely with their S foils still locked and laser cannons primed. What _they_ thought of all this, Leia could only guess; but she strongly suspected Wedge would at least be glad to have the TIEs flying in front of them, rather than the reverse.

Chewbacca took a quick break from his controls to grumble a comment. “I’m not sure what they’re doing here,” Leia admitted, giving the fighters framed in the cockpit her own skeptical look. “Or why they’re helping us. Mon Mothma didn’t mention anything about an Imperial delegation to me.”

Chewbacca considered for a second, woofed another possibility. “No, Chewie, I don’t think it’s a trap,” she said. And yet, Leia couldn’t help but wonder silently: if there was some sort of scheme intended here, for whose benefit would it be—hers, or the Obroans? “It’s more likely the Imperials were invited by the Obroans themselves. Premier K’cheng wouldn’t want to seem partial to one side.”

Especially now that it looked like the Empire had a more-than-better chance of winning the war? But Leia kept that thought to herself, too. “We’re almost at the landing field coordinates,” she noted, eager to change the subject. Even as she said it the _Falcon_ finally broke through the blanketing cloud cover, and outspread beneath them extended a wide stretch of swards and savannahs, with a chain of white-topped mountains capping it in the farther distance. Leia could make out at least half-a-dozen cities scattered across down there, including the dominating circle of magisterial buildings in the center that comprised Obroa-skai’s capital. A little to the south a small flatland had been cleared and fenced off—the planet’s primary spaceport and landing field, biding their arrival. “Take us down, Chewie,” Leia instructed.

Without incident Chewbacca circled the _Falcon_ once around the landing field and then settled down onto their designated spot. Out the canopy nose Leia could see they already had a cluster of visitors waiting for them: a couple of airspeeders were parked not far from the landing site, while a handful of human-like figures had assembled around them. “Looks like we’re expected,” she observed, giving the group a closer review. If the file Mon Mothma had provided was correct, the one with the elaborate neckpiece should be the Premier himself. “Come on, Chewie,” Leia added, starting to unstrap herself. “Let’s go get this started.”

Threepio was waiting for them as they made their way to the aft hatchway, looking as anxious and apprehensive as it was possible for a droid to look. “Your Highness!” he exclaimed, the moment he caught sight of them tramping down the corridor. “Are you certain it is safe to go out there? This mission appears to have become decidedly more dangerous than we initially anticipated! I suggest that we return to Coruscant at once—”

“It’ll be fine, Threepio,” Leia soothed, fighting back a smile. Han might lose patience with Threepio’s constant worrying; but for herself Leia always found something strangely comforting about the droid’s predictability. “What do your translator circuits have on the Obroans?”

The droid titled his head at the question. “Well, as you know, in addition to being fluent in over six million forms of communication I am also designed for etiquette and protocol,” Threepio began, his voice reverting to that professorial air he did so well. “There are at least twelve references to Obroan social convention in my programming, all of which indicate they are an industrious and well-mannered people who place great value on civility and fairness. They also appear to place significant emphasis on personal development and the accumulation of individual knowledge. Of course, the best example of this would be the extensive information repositories currently situated in the Obroan capital…”

“Of course,” Leia agreed, listening with only half-an-ear. It was those repositories, in fact, that would make Obroa-skai such a valued member of the New Republic. Rumor had it that it was during an information raid on the Obroans’ data sources that Grand Admiral Thrawn had been able to locate his new cloning facility. If the Republic’s techs could get their hands on those same sources…

She realized Threepio was still talking. “I’m sorry?” she asked.

“I said,” Threepio repeated, “I don’t believe it is considered proper to make the Premier wait this long.”

“Of course,” Leia said again, with a final nod to Chewbacca. The Wookiee flipped a switch, and with a hiss of compressed air the hatch slid open and the entry ramp descended.

It seemed Threepio had been right about Obroan propriety around keeping people waiting. “Councilor Solo,” K’cheng greeted them as soon as the ramp finished lowering, from where he stood assembled near its foot. Behind him hovered the other Obroans Leia had spotted earlier, most of them clad in the long purple robes of Capital Legates. “Welcoming to Obroa-skai. It is with honor that I may finally speak to you in person.”

“And you as well, Premier K’cheng,” Leia returned, coming to the ramp’s bottom and giving the Premier a proper Obroan bow. “Though I wish this first meeting were under more auspicious circumstances.”

“Yes,” K’cheng nodded quickly, a flicker of worry flashing across his bald face. “Yes, of course. I must express my deep regards with that attack in the sky just now. We are pleasured to see that you are safe and unharmed.”

“Thank you. Any idea who our attackers might have been?”

K’cheng sighed. “Who can say? Often we have pirates in this sector, so close to the Borderland Regions. The Cavrilhu gang has been particularly active of late.”

“I see,” Leia said, studying the other’s face. But she couldn’t detect any treachery or deception lurking there; nor with her Jedi senses, either. “Perhaps providing additional security is something we can discuss, if you decide to join the Republic.”

“I would enjoy that,” K’cheng agreed. “Your Republic often has proposed for such securities in the past.” He hesitated, as if embarrassed. “Though it would seem that this time it is the Empire, and not the Republic, that we have for thanking for your safety.”

As if on cue there came a roar of twin ion engines overhead, as their TIE fighter escort soared past on another loop. “So it would seem,” Leia agreed, feeling Chewbacca give her a covert tap on the back. She glanced at him, followed where his finger indicated. A new shape had emerged out of the clouds behind the TIEs, trailed by its own fighter escort: the inverted Y of an officer’s shuttle. Even as they watched the shuttle began a lazy circle around the landing field, searching for a viable spot.

Leia suddenly noticed K’cheng staring at her. “Pardon me,” she said, remembering Threepio’s warnings about manners and civility. “Allow me to introduce my pilot, Chewbacca.”

“It is honor also to meet with you, Chewbacca,” K’cheng took his hand and shook it. “And I in turn must be allowed to introduce with Legate M’eung. He too shall be attending the conference, among several of his colleagues.”

He stepped aside, permitting one of the purple-clad Legates to come forward. “Legate M’eung,” Leia nodded, doing her best to study the other behind another Obroan bow. Even factoring in her relative unfamiliarity with the species’ convention, it wasn’t hard to see the stiffness in his jaw. “I look forward to the opportunity of discussing Republic membership with you.”

“Do you?” M’eung asked her bluntly. “Do you, really? I herald your safe arrival, Councilor Solo, but I do not welcome it. You are here at invitation of the Premier, _not_ the Legates. You may find that we are perhaps less receiving to your entreaties.”

Leia felt a smile tug at her lips that she fought carefully back. She’d heard _that_ one before. “Then I look forward to the opportunity to change your mind,” she said.

“Excellent!” K’cheng clapped cheerfully. He waved a hand off to their right. “And, of course, you already have been meeting Captain Harbid.”

They all turned where he pointed. That Imperial shuttle had just finished landing, a gentle bounce on its underside skids as it settled upon the uneven ground beneath. A moment later the front ramp began lowering, revealing the dark belly that yawned within. Leia had witnessed enough Imperial parade-ground exercises to know what to expect: the line of stormtroopers tramping down the deck, blaster rifles held high across their chests; trailed by the ranking Imperial officer and his long retinue of advisors and low-level attachés. But out of the shuttle instead came only a middle-aged man in a captain’s uniform, accompanied by a single stormtrooper on either side. None of the fanfare or grandeur the Empire usually employed, and that—according to Leia’s own research—the Obroans considered so ostentatious. It seemed Thrawn had prepped his men well.

It took Harbid only a moment to locate the little gathering amassed beneath the _Falcon_ ’s shadow. “The captain and I spoke briefly, yes,” Leia confessed to K’cheng, as Harbid motioned at his stormtroopers and began jogging towards them. “Forgive me, Premier, but I wasn’t aware the Empire had been invited to our summit.”

“But of course!” K’cheng said, a slightly surprised look on his otherwise amenable face. “Why would not they be?”

“Did you really suppose the Republic would be only ones permitted an audience for petitioning us?” M’eung added.

Actually, that was exactly what Leia had supposed. “Of course not,” she said, doing her best to conjure a polite smile. “I was just surprised, Legate.”

“We Obroans believe that all sides and viewpoints must be considered, in matters of such magnitude as this,” K’cheng explained to her. “Do not fret, Councilor: the Republic’s arguments will receive same hearing as any others. Ah, Captain Harbid!” he clapped, as Harbid finally joined them. “Allow me for welcoming you—I am Premier K’cheng.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Premier,” Harbid returned, offering an appropriately impressive bow. “On behalf of the Empire, I am grateful for your invitation to participate in these talks, and hope we will have a fruitful discussion together.” His gaze shifted towards Leia. “And that makes you Councilor Organa Solo. I must say, I’m glad we were able to offer you our assistance in time.”

“Not as glad as I am, Captain,” Leia returned, trying hard to get a read on the man. Her mind flashed back to some of the other Imperial officers she’d met over the years; but this Captain Harbid had none of the arrogance or haughtiness in his voice of, say, a Moff Tarkin. “Another minute there and I fear those Skiprays might have had us.”

“Most certainly,” M’eung agreed. “It seems Councilor Solo is owing you a great debt, Captain.”

Harbid shrugged off the compliment, and Leia couldn’t quite tell if he was simply being modest or something else. “The Empire is more than happy to offer its protection to any citizens who require it. My only ask is that you remember the value of our efforts when it comes time for the negotiations, Legate.” But his eyes remained on Leia.

“Yes, yes,” K’cheng interjected, “but we will be coming to all of that soon enough, I think. Once Senator Bel Iblis has arrived, we can begin the process formally. When is it that you are expecting him?”

It took Leia a minute to realize the Premier was talking to her. “I’m sorry?” she frowned.

“Garm Bel Iblis,” K’cheng repeated, confusion replacing surprise on his face. “It was our understanding that the Senator had recently rejoined the Republic. Was this not so?”

Leia thought back to her “official” invitation to Garm during the _Katana_ skirmish. “No, that’s correct,” she admitted.

“Well, there you go,” K’cheng smiled, as if that settled the matter.

From the corner of her eye Leia noticed Chewbacca fidget. “Forgive me, Premier,” she tried again, “there must be some misunderstanding. To the best of my knowledge General Bel Iblis is currently on assignment in the Elom system. I don’t believe he is intending to attend this conference.”

The brow across K’cheng’s bald head furrowed slightly. “It is I who must ask for forgiveness, Councilor Solo, but I do not follow. Our government petitioned Mon Mothma specifically for the Senator. How is it that you say he will not be coming?”

Leia felt her own feet begin to fidget, made a conscious effort to keep them still. The situation was starting to get away from her. “I didn’t know that,” she admitted.

“We don’t mean to offend!” K’cheng assured quickly. “I am apprised that you are a seasoned diplomat in your own right. But we have always admired the reputation of Bel Iblis, since his days in the Imperial Senate, and had hoped it would _he_ who was the one to conduct negotiations on the New Republic’s behalf.”

“I imagine Councilor Organa Solo will do fine,” Harbid interceded. Leia gritted her teeth: the last thing she needed was an Imperial officer stepping in to vouch for her. “No doubt this other business of General Bel Iblis’s couldn’t wait.”

“Yes,” K’cheng allowed, neutrally—Leia didn’t need Threepio’s expertise on Obroan etiquette to hear the disappointment in his voice. “Yes, of course. If there is no Senator coming, then perhaps we shall moving on to new matters. I have scheduled the negotiations to commence tomorrow morning, in the capital’s Law House; these airspeeders are provided at your convenience, to convey you to them. In meanwhile guest suites have been prepared in our Royal Palace for both your uses.”

“Very generous of you, Premier K’cheng,” Harbid thanked him, bowing again. “My men and I would be honored to partake in your hospitality. With permission, we shall need to retrieve some things from our ship first.” His eyes passed a final time over the rest of the gathering. “Legate M’eung, Councilor Solo. If you will excuse me?”

Without another word Harbid spun around and started back towards the shuttle, his stormtroopers following behind. “You also, Councilor, are free to recover whatever items needing from your vessel,” K’cheng informed Leia. “My assistant here will take you to your suite whenever you are ready. I am looking forward to hearing the Republic’s presentation tomorrow. Farewell!” He too offered one final bow before heading back towards the cluster of airspeeders. The rest of his delegation tailed shuffling after.

Leia watched them all go. “What just happened, Chewie?” she muttered softly. The Wookiee urfed back something non-committal; and frankly, Leia had to admit to herself that she wasn’t exactly sure what she’d expected him to say. Was it really true that the Obroans had petitioned specifically for Bel Iblis? And if so, why hadn’t Mon Mothma mentioned anything to Leia about it? For a moment she recalled that rather forced scene a few weeks ago, upon their return from the _Katana_ skirmish: when Mon Mothma had thanked Bel Iblis for his assistance, accompanied by stiff platitudes about burying the past—and all the tales and rumors of their supposed squabbling during the war rushed flitting through Leia’s mind. But surely the woman wouldn’t jeopardize a mission of this importance over minor personal squabbles.

Would she?

“Councilor?” a familiar voice murmured behind her. Leia turned round, to find Wedge hovering on her right—still clad in his orange flight suit, and with his pilot’s helmet tucked under one arm. “We just finished our sweep of the area,” he told her, pointing a thumb back over his shoulder; and Leia could see the rest of the Rogue Squadron X-wings settling down to the landing field. “No more sign of those pirates, and the rest of the city looks secure. Any particular orders?”

“Get your squadron settled in,” Leia suggested. “The Premier’s arranged a guest suite for us in the Royal Palace, but my guess is you’d rather have something closer to the landing field. Unless I’m mistaken?” she raised an eyebrow.

“The landing field should be fine—if it’s okay with you, Councilor,” he added sheepishly. Hero of the Republic or not, Wedge was still a flight jockey at heart.

“That’s all right,” Leia assured him. “I’ll look into getting something arranged.” Her eyes drifted past Wedge, towards the looming wings of Harbid’s shuttle as it began rising up into the air. “Wedge,” she said softly, “what do you think? You really believe that was just some random pirate attack just now?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Wedge admitted, looking thoughtfully at the shuttle himself. “Some of the other Rogues are finding it a little too convenient, if you want to know the truth. Personally I’ve got a bad feeling about all of this.” Chewbacca growled softly in agreement.

“Councilor Solo?” someone interrupted, appearing at their elbow. Leia recognized him as one of the aides from K’cheng’s entourage. “Your suite has been readied. If you will to follow me, please?”

* * *

“A pirate attack?” Even with a stretched subspace connection that spanned across three sectors, the concern in Bel Iblis’s voice was instantly apparent. “Are you okay, Leia?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him. Holos were notorious for not providing a lot of detail, notwithstanding one as expensive and high-end as the unit the Obroans had installed in her guest suite. But even quarter-sized Leia could spot the worry lines around Bel Iblis’s eyes and mouth. “We all are. Chewie and Rogue Squadron were able to fight them off long enough for that Star Destroyer to assist us.”

Bel Iblis nodded, the concern on his face yielding to contemplation. “Yes, the Star Destroyer,” he hummed, stroking at his moustache. “An interesting development. It seems a bit strange to me that the Premier would invite the Empire to your summit as well. Particularly when you consider that information raid Thrawn hit them with a few months ago.”

“Maybe it wasn’t the Premier,” Leia suggested, readjusting herself at the comm unit’s desk chair. This particular suite had been done-up in the same ornate and old-fashioned styling that predominated much of the President’s Guests floor in the Imperial Palace on Coruscant, right down to the elegant wood paneling and hand-carved furniture. It was all quite gorgeous to look at; unfortunately, it was also not especially comfortable to sit in. “It’s just a hunch,” she continued, “but I got the impression the Imperial invitation was more M’eung’s idea than K’cheng’s.”

“The Legate? For what purpose?”

“I don’t know,” Leia confessed. “Could be some kind of power play on M’eung’s part. Maybe by presenting the rest of the Legates with a viable alternative, he’s hoping to weaken the Premier’s position?”

“Possible,” Bel Iblis said. “But unlikely. Obroans aren’t like the Bothans; they don’t usually subscribe to that kind of political maneuvering or posturing. And I know a thing or two about Bothan posturing,” he added, smiling to himself. “In fact, my impression of the Obroans after working with them in the Senate was that they would regard any such jockeying as extremely distasteful. It might even be considered political suicide for someone of M’eung’s rank.”

“You’re probably right,” Leia admitted, fighting back the frustration that had been nibbling at her the past few hours. No matter how she tried to slice it, she couldn’t quite make sense of any of this. “But that brings me to the main reason I called you,” she went on, pushing the thought out of her mind for the time being. “Apparently K’cheng was expecting _you_ to be the one who represents our position in the negotiations.”

“Me?” Bel Iblis frowned thoughtfully. “You’re sure?”

“He said they’d petitioned for ‘Garm Bel Iblis’ specifically—something about admiring your past record in the Imperial Senate. Did you have a lot dealings with the Obroans back then?”

“Not that I can recall,” Bel Iblis said, that thoughtful frown still on his face. “A couple joint-sponsored bills, that sort of thing. Did K’cheng mention anything in particular?”

Leia shook her head. “No. But he was pretty disappointed when I explained you were already on assignment in the Elom system.” She paused. “You know, Garm, Elom isn’t _that_ far from Obroa-skai.”

Now the frown disappeared, replaced by an expression Leia couldn’t quite place. “You’re not suggesting I abandon my current operation, I hope?”

“Of course not,” Leia said quickly. “But you could probably step away for a couple of days, be here at least for the tail end of the conference. I imagine a personal appearance would go a long way toward convincing the Obroans that we’re committed to their membership.”

Bel Iblis sighed. “Admiral Ackbar asked me to help fortify the Elomins’ defenses here, Leia,” he reminded her. “I can’t just ‘step away.’”

“I understand,” Leia said, deciding to overlook the small half-truth. Yes, Ackbar had issued him the order; but they both knew it was Mon Mothma who’d submitted the initial request. Again those rumors about her and Bel Iblis turned over in Leia’s mind…

She realized suddenly that Bel Iblis was looking at her carefully through the holo. “You’ll do fine by yourself,” he assured, apparently misinterpreting her hesitation. “You always do.”

But for maybe the first time in a long time, Leia wasn’t so certain. There was something about all this that just did _not_ feel right. “I know,” she said anyway. She tried offering a weak smile. “Just promise me you’ll keep it in mind, okay, Garm? The Republic _does_ need you, even if maybe it doesn’t feel like everyone realizes it right now.”

“Of course,” Bel Iblis said, some of those lines easing up around his eyes and mouth. His gaze shifted to something outside the frame. “I’m sorry, Sena’s calling me,” he told her. “Was there anything else?”

“No,” Leia shook her head. “May the Force be with you, General.”

“You too, Councilor. Good luck.” He reached a hand over, and the quarter-sized image vanished.

For a long time Leia just sat there, brooding in the growing dusk as outside city lights began to dart and dance beyond her bay window. She didn’t even notice when the old-style hinged door connecting to the main living area swung open and Chewbacca slipped in. “Chewie!” she exclaimed, jumping at the Wookiee hand that was placed on her shoulder. “You startled me. What is it?”

Word had just come from Premier K’cheng’s office: the Legates had confirmed the talks for tomorrow morning. “Thanks,” Leia said, feeling a sudden exhaustion weigh over her. “Did you let Wedge and the others know?”

Chewbacca nodded, studying her carefully through those thoughtful blue eyes. “I’m fine,” she told him, with another weak smile. “Just tired from the trip.”

He didn’t believe her; Leia had known him long enough to see that. But Chewbacca also knew better than to argue. Instead he growled out a suggestion. “Yes, I’m going to make sure I get plenty of rest,” she said. “Speaking of which, isn’t it about time you went and got some rest of your own? You’ve had a busy day, too, you know. And the last thing I need tomorrow is a sleep-deprived Wookiee passing out at the negotiation table. Go on, scat,” Leia insisted. “I promise I’ll be in bed shortly.”

He continued standing there for another moment, clearly struggling between his twin duties of ensuring her safety and obeying her commands. At last the latter won over, and with a final woof Chewbacca wished her goodnight and slipped back through the door.

She waited until he had switched off the lights in the living area and returned to his room before sliding into the blankets herself. It was still several hours later when Leia finally feel asleep.

* * *

Orbiting several miles above in the _Death’s Head_ , Harbid gave a quick salute to the image that materialized on his own hologram pod. “Grand Admiral Thrawn.”

“Captain Harbid,” the Grand Admiral nodded in return. In the holo’s hazy picture those famous red eyes were only slightly less intimidating than usual. “Report.”

“Everything is proceeding according to plan,” Harbid informed him. “Organa Solo’s team arrived precisely on the schedule you provided. And I’ve just received confirmation that we’re due to begin talks with the Obroans tomorrow morning.”

“Very good,” Thrawn said. He raised an eyebrow. “And the attack itself?”

“Exactly as we rehearsed. My men were able to fight off the Skiprays before they could do any serious damage to Organa Solo or her ship. She was able to land without incident.”

“I trust your good deed did not go unappreciated?”

“No, Admiral.” Harbid smiled. “Premier K’cheng in particular seemed quite impressed with our performance.”

“Of course,” Thrawn said. “Obroan social etiquette places great deal of value on chivalry and courtesy, even to one’s enemies. Your actions should go a long way towards establishing our credibility with the Premier—just the thing we need to convince him to put that little information raid from a few months ago behind us.”

“Yes, sir.” Harbid hesitated. “What about the negotiations themselves?”

“I’ve already taken care of that, too,” Thrawn told him. “All you need do is allow the Rebels’ case to unravel itself. I shall see to the rest.”

“Yes, sir,” Harbid said again. He still didn’t know what exactly the Admiral’s grand strategy was here; but if Thrawn wanted to play things close to the chest, who was Harbid to argue? “I’ll let you know when it’s done.”

“See that you do, Captain,” Thrawn advised. Those red eyes seemed to glow a little redder. “Obroa-skai is far too valuable a prize for us to concede it to Rebel hands. If everything continues according to plan, the planet will be ours soon enough.”


	9. A Diplomatic Mission, Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the aid of Chewbacca and Threepio, Leia begins negotiations to petition the Obroans to join the New Republic. Part 3 of 5.

_The order was unnecessary. The shadowy figure had already come to a halt, standing unprotected in the open, its hooded face shaded from the faint light of Luke’s lightsaber._

_Luke took a step toward it. “I’m Luke Skywalker,” he said formally. “Brother of Leia Organa Solo, son of the Lord Darth Vader. Who are you?”_

_“I am Ekhrikor clan Bakh’tor,” the gravelly Noghri voice replied. “I greet you, son of Vader.” —THE LAST COMMAND_

* * *

The Capital Law House was a predictably lavish affair, exactly what one would expect from a planetary parliament: just a quick fifteen-minute trip by airspeeder from the Obroan Royal Palace, and bedecked and decorated in a pompish grandeur designed to mimic the Palace’s own. Indeed, if the Royal suites had reminded Leia rather vividly of their equivalent back on Coruscant, the Law House itself seemed a miniature copycat of the same’s Council and Assemblage Chambers where first the Galactic Senate and currently the Provisional Government gathered for business. High vaulted ceilings, with rows of cut-glass windows and impossibly-ornate columns; all done in a stonework that echoed a style more fitting of the Old Republic than the new one.

It was still early morning as Wedge set their airspeeder down in the slot K’cheng had reserved for them outside the main entrance. “Well, here we are,” he declared, to no one in particular. Leia had instructed him to discard his orange flight suit in favor of the more diplomacy-appropriate military uniform the Republic supplied its officers, complete with the distinctive Rogue Squadron patch on the shoulder; but even in his dress grays, Wedge couldn’t quite manage to shake that tousled flyboy look. “I’d like to go on record one last time that I think this is a bad idea. Trying to negotiate when there’s a destroyer hovering over your head—particularly when it’s an _Imperial_ destroyer—isn’t typically a good place to be starting from.”

“I’m not especially pleased about the situation either,” Leia pointed out, from where she was sitting in the seat behind him. “But as Premier K’cheung explained yesterday, Captain Harbid was specifically invited by the Obroans. I can hardly ask them to make him leave, can I?”

Wedge seemed to consider that, before shrugging. “It’s your call,” he conceded, starting to switch off the engines. Or maybe, Leia reflected dryly, he simply recognized that he didn’t have much say in the matter. “Are you all right, Councilor?” he suddenly paused mid-switch. “You look a little gray.”

“I’m fine,” Leia assured him behind a weak smile. She _was_ feeling a bit nauseous, she realized; though it was hard to say whether it was from the pregnancy or just some pre-negotiation nerves. _Calm down_ , she reminded herself, sternly, _you’ve done this a hundred times_. She went through some of the Force-relaxing exercises Luke had taught her, and tried to ignore the distinct impression that none of them were actually working.

Threepio, at least, seemed chipper about the day’s upcoming events. “I for one am looking forward to these proceedings,” he piped in eagerly. Not necessarily a surprise, when you thought about it: Threepio was first and foremost a protocol droid, and over the years his particular talents hadn’t been put to their proper use nearly as often as he’d liked. The opportunity to return to his roots was always a welcome one. “If my programming is correct, Obroan cultural norms place great emphasis on ceremony and decorum in regards to their legal procedures. Today will provide an excellent opportunity to observe that ceremony firsthand.” He glanced around the compartment, seeming to realize that no one was really listening to him. “Wouldn’t you agree, Chewbacca?” he pressed.

But Chewbacca was looking at Leia, his blue eyes studying her thoughtfully. “I’m _fine_ ,” she repeated, in a tone advising him to drop the subject. A sudden movement outside provided her an easy diversion. “Look, Legate M’eung’s delegation just walked in. We’d better get going.”

Leia needed only a little help from Chewbacca getting out of the airspeeder and making it up the stairs to the main entrance. The two men standing guard on either side gave her a quick once-over before letting them all through—though judging by their colorful livery and antique blasters Leia suspected they were positioned more for decorative purposes than security. Inside she was greeted by a sea of purple-clad Legates and their legislative aides, filling the antehall like a lazy wave as they slowly drifted toward an impressive two-storey doorway looming at the farther end. Leia cast another look up at those high-vaulted ceilings and elaborate stonework, marveling once more at the similarities with the Republic’s own Grand Corridor in the Imperial Palace. The only thing the Obroans were missing were the matching rows of ch’hala trees.

“Exquisite, is it not?” a voice behind her asked.

Leia turned, to discover Premier K’cheng standing beside her. “I have always been enjoying coming here,” he continued, while his own gaze floated up to the vaults as well. “There is something calming about the place; peaceful, yes? Do you not think so also?”

“It’s beautiful,” Leia agreed.

“I had hoped you might find it such. It is written in our archives that many of your own constructions on Alderaan were equally pleasing. This is true?”

Leia felt a sudden swelling of bitterness in her chest. “Yes, we had a statehouse like this on Alderaan,” she confirmed, pushing it down. “Before the Empire destroyed it, of course.”

“Of course,” K’cheng coughed. “If you are appreciating architecture, you may also wish for seeing the Central Libraries Building, only a short ride from here. It too is one of the great marvels of Obroa-skai—and not only for the records that we keep within. You and your companions should try yourselves and visit, before you are departing.” He glanced briefly at Chewbacca and the others, as if considering them behind that unreadable smile, before taking Leia by the arm and guiding her aside. “Forgive me, if this is perhaps I being blunt,” he said softly. “But I must ask you, Councilor Solo: what is it exactly that you intend for accomplishing today?”

Leia blinked in surprise. “Why, to persuade your government that we’re your best chance for living in peace and prosperity, of course. To convince you to join the New Republic.”

“Ah,” K’cheng nodded. “Pardon! But you see, we have been hearing all these overtures already. What shall make your words any different from the emissaries that have come before?”

“Maybe nothing,” Leia admitted. “But you and I both know that the galaxy isn’t the same place it was five years ago. Those words may be more persuasive now, in light of recent events. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” K’cheng conceded. “I would not have been inviting you for petitioning otherwise. But you must see, Councilor, that I am not the one for whom you must be convincing. The title of Premier is prestigious, but it is much what you might call _figurehead._ It is the Legates that are those who hold the real power on Obroa-skai. You will be in need of their support, if any petitions are for approving.”

“I know,” Leia said. She hesitated, just for a heartbeat; but enough years in diplomacy had taught her to trust her instincts. “Will you help me?” she asked, placing a hand on K’cheng’s own.

He was silent for a moment. “I will do what I can,” he said finally, just as a gong sounded in the antehall. “Come! That is advisement that conference is about to begin. It will do your cause well if we are arriving together.”

So together the two of them headed down the corridor toward the open double-doors that connected into the Obroan Assembly; Chewbacca slipping in position behind them, Wedge and Threepio trailing after. Inside Leia was surprised to discover that the Assembly Chamber, at least, was a departure from its Coruscant equivalent: while the Assemblage Auditorium in the Imperial Palace was typically arranged in a sequence of slightly-tiered clusters that all faced towards a central lectern, here the Obroans opted for a more circular approach that aligned better with the Provisional Council—concentric rows wheeling around the room in a loop, with an open platform at the center from which petitioners could present their case. “You and your delegation may take your positions there,” K’cheng informed Leia, pointing to a spot along the inner circle where an additional group of chairs had been set up. “Good luck, Councilor,” K’cheng added, one last time, before padding off in the direction of the box seat designated for the Premier.

“At least _he’s_ on our side,” Wedge murmured as they moved down one of the aisles that connected with the center.

“There aren’t any ‘sides’ in this, Wedge,” Leia warned sternly. “We’re here to help do what’s best for the Obroan people. That’s it.”

“Yeah, sure,” Wedge said, his eyes drifting. “I’m not sure your Legate M’eung sees it quite that way, though.”

Leia followed where he was looking. In a position maybe one-quarter of the way around the main circle was M’eung, standing in his own box with a circle of aides hovering around him. As she shuffled past Leia noticed his own eyes slide up briefly in her direction, before returning to his aides again. “He’s only one vote,” she reminded Wedge.

Chewbacca let out a low growl. “Yeah, but he’s a loud one,” Wedge agreed, steering her towards their assigned seats. “Right here, Councilor.”

Leia plopped down in one of the proffered chairs. It could have been the twin of the same stiff-backed one over in her suite—which was to say, much nicer to look at than to sit on. No point in obsessing over it, she decided; they would likely be spending the next several hours in these things. “How is this going to work, Threepio?” she asked the droid as he took the one beside her.

Threepio titled his head thoughtfully. “If my understanding of Obroan culture is correct, every petitioner will be allocated a certain amount of time to present his or her case to the Premier and Assembly. There may also be an opportunity for rebuttal by any opponents to the proposal, as well as a question-and-answer session from the Legates themselves. Of course, depending on the length and number of questions, these sessions can span several days.”

“Of course,” Leia agreed diplomatically. At a slot across from them she could see that Harbid and the rest of the Imperial delegation had also arrived, and already taken their place opposite: the captain flanked by his two stormtroopers, and consulting with a couple junior officers over a data pad. “I assume the Imperials will be granted the same amount of time as us?”

“Oh, I should think so,” Threepio confirmed cheerfully. “As I said, the Obroans place a great emphasis on fairness.”

He was interrupted by the echo of a second gong ringing through the chamber. “Attention!” Premier K’cheung announced, rising up from his chair. “Attention! The conference is now for beginning. Petitioners will rise?”

Chewbacca provided Leia a hand as she pushed herself back up; on the platform’s other side, Harbid did the same. “Petitioners will be identifying themselves,” one of K’cheng’s aides instructed.

Harbid glanced at Leia. “Councilor Leia Organa Solo, on behalf of the New Republic,” she said.

“Captain Harbid of the _Death’s Head_ , for the Empire,” Harbid added.

“Petitioners names being noted,” K’cheng said, after confirmation from his aide. “Councilor Solo may for speaking first. Why have you come before the Obroan Assembly?”

“I seek to petition Obroa-skai for membership in the New Republic.”

“This too being noted. And you, Captain Harbid?”

“The same, your honor, but in the name of the Empire.”

K’cheng waited until the aide had finished writing. “Very well,” he said. “We will be considering for both petitions in their turn. Each side allowed one hour for presenting an open argument, this followed by inquisitions from Assembly members into the merits of proposals themselves. All are in agreement?”

Up in their rows, the Legates nodded. “Very well,” the Premier said again, resuming his seat. “Councilor Solo, you may proceed.”

* * *

In accordance with Obroan custom, they had permitted Leia sixty minutes to present her opening arguments to the Assembly. She only needed thirty to tell she didn’t have them.

“Well-spoken, Councilor,” Legate M’eung began, as Leia came to a finish. “So far even to be eloquent. Yet still I am for protesting. Pardon, but these arguments are based as upon half-truths and dreams as upon reality.”

Leia turned toward him, thankful for perhaps the first time in her life for all the practice she’d gotten with arrogant bureaucrats during those many Council arguments with Fey’lya. “And how is that, Legate?” she inquired.

M’eung snorted. “You are forgetting this body has seen itself Republican politics firsthand, when visiting your Coruscant many years ago. We discovered there only dysfunction and chaos among you, not harmony.”

“I agree the Republic’s not perfect,” Leia conceded. “We still have our share of progress ahead of us. Surely you don’t mean to suggest the Empire’s model was any better?”

“Objection!” the legate to M’eung’s left interjected. “Merits of the Imperial proposal are not for considering at this time. We kindly ask the Premier to reminding his petitioner to stick to the matter at hand.”

“So reminded,” K’cheng said, giving Leia a sympathetic smile.

“My apologies,” Leia bowed to the objecting legate. She looked back to M’eung. “Do you have specific concerns, Legate, or just these general pronouncements?”

“My ‘pronouncements,’ as you calling them, be considerably more than _general_ ,” he pointed out. “But if specifics you are seeking, I am happy to providing them. Is it not fact that just recently one high-ranking member of your Inner Council was accusing the war hero Ackbar of treason, simply for his own political profit?”

“That itself might be called half-true,” Leia clarified. More for the Assembly’s benefit than M’eung’s—if the Legate knew enough to bring up those trumped-up charges against Ackbar, surely he knew the whole of it. “Councilor Fey’lya implicated Admiral Ackbar only after a large and unexplained sum of money was discovered in his bank account.” _A sum placed there by an Imperial plant_ , Leia wanted to add, resisting the urge to glare at Harbid. “Once we were able to prove that the deposit was made without the admiral’s knowledge, Councilor Fey’lya withdrew the charges immediately.”

Which _was_ a half-truth, Leia admitted to herself, recalling Fey’lya’s humiliating defeat aboard the _Quenfis_. Judging from the smirk tugging at the corner of M’eung’s lips, he knew about _that_ , too; for some reason, he chose not to press her on it. “And what of Senator Bel Iblis, then?” he countered instead, in a rising pitch. “Why is he not for here, as we are requested? I have heard it rumored that Mon Mothma still does not forgive him for his departure nine years ago, and abuses her position within your hierarchy to shame him even today. Is that not the reason?”

“That’s ridiculous!” Leia insisted, hearing the pitch in her own voice get a little higher. “Mon Mothma has treated Garm with the utmost respect since he came back. She’s ensured that he’s been given some of our most critical military assignments.”

“Ah.” M’eung smirked openly now. “Then perhaps that is the reason why Senator has not come _here,_ eh—simply has more important things for doing, than speaking with fussy old Obroans. Is that why you are standing for his stead?”

Leia noticed Chewbacca fidget in his chair. “I would ask the Premier to remind Legate M’eung,” she said to K’cheng, “that I am a Councilor of the New Republic and one of its highest-ranking members. I am hardly a consolation prize.”

“Noted,” the Premier confirmed, with another smile.

She took a beat before staring down M’eung. “The reason I am here and Garm is not,” she explained, “is because his expertise is needed on the war front, and mine is not. A distinction I hope you will appreciate the next time you need to call on a Republic task force for assistance.”

The polished dome of M’eung’s forehead wrinkled irritably— “But that is real issue, is it not, Councilor Solo?” another legate spoke up. “The war with the Empire. Tell us, why should we for joining the Republic at the very time when it appears all your momentum is losing?”

Behind Leia, Threepio gave the droid equivalent of a polite cough. “I beg your pardon,” he spoke up, “but I believe that point concerns Captain Harbid’s petition, and is not appropriate at this time.”

“It most certainly is appropriate!” the legate challenged. “Republic’s future viability is at the very heart of its petition!”

“We still have over half of the galaxy under our control,” Leia reminded them, not eager to get caught up in an argument over procedure. “We have the advantage in both territory and personnel. Grand Admiral Thrawn has a long way to go before he can match us.”

“For the moment, yes,” M’eung started up again. “But matters have changed in past weeks, have they not? They say the Empire has now under its command a complete collection of Spaarti cloning cylinders. With these the Grand Admiral has raised for himself an army of Imperial warriors unlike any seen in last five years.”

“Legate M’eung speaks true,” the other legate said. “I have read the Republic’s own reports confirming. How do you intend for repelling weapon of such magnitude, Councilor? Do you even yet have a path for victory?”

“And why should the presence of any such weapon have relevance _against_ Republic application?” a different legate shot back, before Leia could reply. “Surely the onset of a second Clone Wars is not for consideration in the Empire’s favor?”

“The purpose of these hearings is to determine which petition is in the best interest of Obroa-skai. You would not ally us with a government that is incapable of its own defense!”

There came a soft tap from the Premier’s seat. “Councilor Solo’s protocol droid is correct,” he interrupted. “This discussion falls under the ambit of Captain Harbid’s application, and not the Councilor’s.” He looked around the hall. “Do any of the legates have further questions about the merits of the _Republic’s_ petition?”

No one answered. “Very well,” K’cheng said, glancing at the chronometer. “Then we will take break at this time. The negotiations shall resuming in one hour.”

* * *

It was nearly evening by the time Wedge dropped them back off at the Palace’s airspeeder pad, and an early onset twilight was already starting to swallow the horizon in its blossoming gloom. “I’ll send someone by to check on you in a couple hours,” he promised, as Leia and the others tumbled out; before rising up into the sky and heading off toward the landing field where he and the rest of Rogue Squadron had decided to make lodge. The airspeeder disappeared into the darkness, just another light lost among the hundreds of other little lights flitting their way across the city. _Lost among the lights_ …a bit like how Leia felt, at the moment.

“I thought things went rather well this morning,” Threepio commented, while the three of them rode the turbolift car down to their suite.

“Really?” Leia asked with only half-an-ear, leaning against the car wall. After the day they’d had, she was more interested in a hot bath than Threepio’s analysis of Obroan legal proceedings. “How do you figure that?”

“We had the opportunity to make several astute points in our defense, Your Highness,” Threepio explained, apparently not noticing her mood. “Legate M’eung’s questions regarding the war effort, in particular, were deflected most deftly. It will prove very exciting to see how Captain Harbid’s petition follows tomorrow.”

 _Exciting_ was not exactly the word Leia would have used. “Right now I’m looking more forward to a good night’s rest,” she told them, as the lift finally came to a stop at their floor. Together they filed out and shuffled down the hallway to their suite.

But it seemed a good night’s rest wasn’t in the cards just yet. “Councilor Solo!” a youngish man exclaimed, springing up from the suite’s center couch as Chewbacca finished typing in their entry code and clicking the door open. It took Leia only a moment to recognize him: the same aide that K’cheng had assigned to assist them at the landing field yesterday. “Forgive my intruding! You must be remembering myself, yes?”

“Yes, I remember you,” she said. She could feel more than hear the warning growl that started sounding in the back of Chewbacca’s throat. The Wookiee liked surprise guests even less than she did. “May I ask what you are doing in my suite? If my understanding of Obroan etiquette is correct, such a meeting is highly inappropriate.”

The man’s ruddy face got a little redder. “Your pardoning, Councilor!” he begged, practically falling to one knee. “Such invasion would not be countenanced, if any among the Assembly would learn it. But when he explained why he was come to you here, I felt this was for best.”

It soon became clear what _he_ the man was referring to. Skulking near the corner window, hidden as much by the growing twilight outside as by the cowl that was draped over its head, a short figure stood waiting for her. In other circumstances she would have found it strange that she was unable to sense him there, even with her rudimentary skills in the Force. “He was saying that he was friend of yours?” the aide pressed hopefully.

“Yes,” she confirmed, examining the figure more closely. The hood over his head was accompanied by a wrapping of brown robes like the kind typically worn by Jawa scavengers; but at this point Leia knew better than to be fooled by such a disguise. “Yes, thank you,” she repeated, dismissing the aide with a nod. “You may go.”

“As you commanding, Councilor.” The man hesitated. “Of this you will mention nothing to the Premier?”

“I will say nothing,” she promised, putting some of that Royal Alderaanian upbringing into her stance. “Now _go_. You, too, Chewie.”

Chewbacca blinked, and for a moment it seemed like he might argue the point—he liked the prospect of leaving her alone about as much as he liked the one of unexpected guests. But another Royal Alderaanian look sent the Wookiee scuttling off, steering the aide with one hand while dragging Threepio out with the other. “Really, Chewbacca, this is not necessary!” the droid maintained, before the sliding door cut the rest of his protest off. “Princess Leia said nothing about meeee—”

Then the door was shut, and it was just the two of them. “I am Leia Organa Solo,” she introduced herself, knowing that decorum dictated she be the one to speak first. “Councilor for the New Republic, and daughter of the Lord Darth Vader.” She tried as best she could to get a read on the face hidden beneath that cowl. “What is your name and clan?”

For a heartbeat the figure said nothing, just staring at Leia from the beneath the shadows of its hood; and for the briefest second she wondered if she’d possibly made some mistake. Then it dropped itself to the floor, spreading out its arms in a gesture of supplication that reminded her of the same K’cheng’s aide had presented only a moment ago…and as it did so, the cowl finally fell away. “I am called Ekhrikor,” the Noghri before her meowed, in that familiar gravelly voice. “Warrior of the clan Bakh’tor. I greet you, Lady Vader.”

Leia knew the rest of the drill. Slowly she held out her hand, just as she had done with Khabarakh on Kashyyyk and later the maitrakh on Honoghr. Ekhrikor accepted the offering gingerly, placing the palm to his nostrils and taking a long, deep sniff. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Vader,” he said, letting the hand fall away. “Truly it is the honor of any Noghri to stand before the personage of the _Mal’ary’ush_.”

“You may rise, Ekhrikor clan Bakh’tor,” Leia said, fighting the instinct to help him up herself. Such an action would not be fitting behavior for the daughter of the Lord Vader. “I am glad to meet you as well, though I must confess surprise at your presence here. How did you find me?”

“The Noghri always are on watch for the one who helped to liberate our people,” Ekhrikor explained, “even if she does not know it. As it is our sworn duty. When we became informed of your mission to Obroa-skai, the dynasts instructed my team to aid you.”

“I see,” Leia said, choosing to overlook the implication that they were, essentially, stalking her. “Am I correct to assume that you are one of the commando teams Vor’corkh dispatched to ‘search’ for Khabarakh?”

“This is so, Lady Vader,” Ekhrikor confirmed. “When he heard we would be coming before you, Khabarakh clan Kihm’bar requested that I offer you his greetings as well.”

Leia smiled. Good old Khabarakh. The last time she’d seen him, he’d been hurrying back to Honoghr in that little patrol ship of his, his holds full of the supplies that might help to begin cleansing his homeworld. “And I thank you for bringing them,” Leia said. “Yet I fear you have risked much by coming to me.”

“For the Lady Vader, the risk is nothing,” Ekhrikor assured her. “Any among the Noghri people would gladly die for the _Mal’ary’ush_.”

And he meant it, Leia knew. She’d experienced the Noghri honor code up close, and offhand couldn’t think of another species—except perhaps the Wookiees—that took a life debt so seriously. “The Noghri will always be cherished in my family for their service,” she told him. “But it is not only yourself you have put at risk. If you are seen with me, it could compromise myself and my friends, to say nothing of our mission here. Or worse—right now there’s a Star Destroyer captain staying elsewhere in the Palace, and there’s a good chance Grand Admiral Thrawn has dispatched additional spies about the city. Should any of them spot you aiding a Republic representative, it could compromise the safety of Honoghr itself.”

“I understand,” Ekhrikor said. “Truly it brings great pain knowing that I submit you or your companions to further peril. Yet the risk was necessary, for it is of your mission here that I come to speak.”

“My mission?” She fought back the frown she could feel trying to crease her forehead. “What about my mission?”

Ekhrikor let out a low purr, the Noghri equivalent of a growl. “These negotiations you participate in—they are nothing but smoke and dreams, a charade being perpetrated upon you. The Obroan government will never vote to join the Republic.”

Leia shook her head. “It seems the dynasts did not inform you as well as they should have, Ekhrikor,” she said. “Premier K’cheng has assured me that he will provide whatever support he can. Surely you aren’t suggesting…”

“I refer not to the Premier,” Ekhrikor interrupted. “Our reconnaissance indicates that he is an honorable man, worthy of his station. But there are others besides the Premier who are opposed to your goal—agents among the Legates, placed by the Grand Admiral himself to further Imperial interests. We are aware of one already. As long as he remains upon the Assembly, a vote in the Republic’s favor will not be permitted to pass.”

Leia nodded with sudden understanding. “M’eung.”

Ekhrikor hissed a breath. “Then you knew already? Rightly is the wisdom of the _Mal’ary’ush_ well-praised!”

Leia gave a mental shrug. Jedi insight was hardly necessary when it came to the obvious. “Can you prove that M’eung is involved with the Empire? Help _me_ prove it, I mean?”

There was a slight hesitation. “Yes,” Ekhrikor admitted. “We can provide you the means and information needed to reveal this deception. But I urge you to reconsider, my lady. Even with the agent exposed there is no guarantee of success. The Grand Admiral has many tools in play, and will not readily concede the planet.” He let out another hiss. “It would be better for you and your companions to flee this place, before it becomes too late.”

“I’m sorry, Ekhrikor,” Leia said, “I appreciate your concern, but I can’t walk away. My mission here is too important to give up without a fight. I _have_ to find a way to help the Obroans see the truth.” She smiled slightly. “Surely a Noghri warrior, of all people, can understand that.”

A long silence, as Ekhrikor stared back at her with those large dark eyes. “I understand,” he said at last. “The Noghri people value courage, even in the face of great challenge. You are worthy of your reputation, Lady Vader.” He glanced out the window. “I regret I cannot be seen more with you, but such would put both our lives at even further risk. Nevertheless my team will provide what aid we can, since that is your wish. We will watch over and protect you, my lady. Do not fear.”

“Thank you, Ekhrikor clan Bahk’tor.” She placed a hand upon his shoulder. “And thank you for your message tonight. You may have helped my cause more than you know.”

“Then it was worth whatever danger was risked to come here,” Ekhrikor replied. He lifted up his hood and replaced it over his head. “Until we speak again—Farewell!”

He’d barely disappeared out the front door before Chewbacca was slipping back through, a harried-looking Threepio scooting after him. “Oh my!” the droid fretted. “What an abrupt, inconsiderate fellow—I never _could_ abide those Jawas. What did he want, Your Highness?”

“Chewie?” Leia asked.

Chewbacca nodded slowly; he at least recognized a Noghri when he saw one, even while trussed up in Jawa robes. In fact, given how quickly the two of them had paraded back in here just now, Leia had a strong suspicion he’d been trying to listen in to her conversation from the door. “It was nothing important,” she told Threepio. “Come on, let’s throw a quick supper together and then get you ready for bed. It’s going to be another _long_ day, for all of us.”

But for the first time since coming to the Palace—maybe the first time since arriving at Obroa-skai—Leia no longer felt tired. At the moment her mind was practically whirring from all sorts of new plans that were spinning through her head. _So_ , she thought darkly, _Legate M’eung is on Thrawn’s payroll, is he?_ How like the Grand Admiral to try and stack the deck in his favor. And yet, despite any doubts or setbacks, it seemed the Force had been with her this whole time, after all.

Now if it would just stay that way until tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’d like to learn more about my writing, including another Star Wars story featuring Obi-wan and Anakin and a science fiction retelling of The Hobbit, follow me on Twitter [@NobNesbit](https://twitter.com/nobnesbit) or check out my website: [http://nobnesbit.com.](http://nobnesbit.com)


	10. A Diplomatic Mission, Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia attempts to unveil the Imperial spy hidden among the Legates and complete her mission to Obroa-skai. Part 4 of 5.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’d like to learn more about my writing, including another Star Wars story featuring Obi-wan and Anakin and a science fiction retelling of The Hobbit, follow me on Twitter [@NobNesbit](https://twitter.com/nobnesbit) or check out my website: [http://nobnesbit.com.](http://nobnesbit.com)

_“He ask me hunt animal nest for him,” the Barabel said. “Animals bothering little ships—eating at sides. I do what he say. He burn animal nest, get money. But then he pay me in no-good money.” He gestured down at a now scattered pile of gold-colored metal chips._

_Luke picked one up. It was small and triangular, with an intricate pattern of lines in the center, and inscribed with a small “100” in each corner. “Anyone ever see this currency before?” he called, holding it up._

_“It’s new Imperial scrip,” someone dressed in an expensive business coat said with thinly veiled contempt. “You can only spend it on Imperial-held worlds and stations.” —DARK FORCE RISING_

* * *

With only a couple extra bumps than the day before, Wedge settled the airspeeder down to their designated spot in front of the Obroan Law House. “You’re _sure_ this is a good idea?” he asked no one in particular, allowing the repulsors to start powering themselves down. His hands, Leia noticed, looked a little white-knuckled where he was gripping the flight stick. Probably the reason behind those additional bumps.

“No more than yesterday,” she answered for all of them, fingering the lightsaber sitting in her lap. Her blaster she’d left back in the suite—between Wedge and Chewbacca they’d have firepower enough, should they even need it—but she had decided to bring her lightsaber with her today, allowing it to hang conspicuously beneath her belly. A not-so-subtle reminder, to M’eung as much as anyone else, that she was more than just some Republic bureaucrat. “But I still think it’s the best chance we’ve got. Right, Chewie?”

From his seat beside Threepio, Chewbacca growled out his agreement. “Well, it’s your call,” Wedge conceded, for the second day in a row. He gave his own blaster a final check before slipping it to his side holster. “Let’s get to it, shall we?”

He popped the doors, and together the four of them exited the airspeeder and started towards the stairs that led up into the Law House. It was the same two guards as earlier, standing duty on either post in that same bright livery; but today they gave Leia considerably more than a cursory once-over as she approached, judging from the pair of eyes that fell suspiciously upon the lightsaber hanging off her belt. Yet they had both seen her conferring with the Premier himself only yesterday, and decided to hold their tongues as she passed through. “You may proceeding, Councilor,” one of them said, waving her along. “The Legates await expecting you.”

The Legates were indeed expecting her, Leia discovered, as she and the others hurried down the antehall and stumbled once more beneath the dome of the main Assembly chamber. Most were already positioned along their assigned benches, circling rows of purple and violet that looped round the room like petals on some exotic flower: either consulting their aides on secondary matters before the opening gong, or else conversing quietly with each other in clumps of twos-and-threes. At place of prominence at the circle’s top was K’cheng in his box, surrounded by his own retinue of assistants and advisors while they swarmed round briefing him on his business for the day. Further below, sitting patiently in an Imperial uniform that looked even more pressed-and-ironed than usual, was Captain Harbid.

The moment Leia’s party stepped into the room one of K’cheng’s aides spotted them—a seven-foot Wookiee made for a conspicuous entrance—and leaping up rushed the stairs to meet her. “Coun-ci-lor!” he hissed. Why, it was the same man again who had visited her last night. “Here finally you are come! Pardon, Councilor, but your arriving is nearly past-due. The Premier was almost delaying on your behalf!”

“Please extend Premier K’cheng my apologies,” Leia begged him, glancing past his shoulder at the tiers of Legates assembled around them. It took her only a moment to find her target, two steps up in the same box as yesterday: Legate M’eung, absorbed in some discussion with another legislator and about as far away from Harbid as it was physically possible to be. “We had an engagement that I couldn’t afford to miss,” she went on. “But I’m ready now. Is the Assembly set to begin?”

“The Legates commence,” the aide confirmed. His eyes had bulged noticeably at the word _engagement_ , but he pushed doggedly past it. “Come, come!”

Leia allowed herself to be ushered down into the center circle across from Harbid. She didn’t need Jedi senses to feel the flurry of eyes that locked onto her as she followed behind Wedge toward their assigned slots; the eyes, or the whispered mumblings that started up with them, rippling among the legates but never quite rising to the point of a direct comment. Although, again, the seven-foot Chewbacca tramping behind her probably had something to with it. Maybe she should consider bringing him to some of her Council meetings. “Ah, _Councilor Solo_ ,” one of the Legates finally risked, as she reached the bottom of the aisle and took her seat. “It is pleasurable that you at last could be joining us!”

“That is enough, Legate, thank you,” K’cheng chastised gently, from his station in the Premier’s box. Yet he too had his eyes upon her, Leia noticed, though whether in displeasure or something else she couldn’t say—and she became keenly aware that if this plan of hers didn’t work, she might be costing herself their only ally. “With the arriving of both delegates, the gong to signal this our second day shall be sounded. The morning’s docket will hear rebuttal to each petition considered already: first from him on behalf of the Empire, before same shall be permitted by the Republic’s.” He indicated towards the chair on his left. “Captain Harbid, you may for opening.”

Harbid started to rise from his chair— “Your pardon, Premier,” Leia interrupted, rising up herself. “I had hoped to say a few words of my own, before Captain Harbid offers us his presentation. With your permission?”

“What is the purpose for this disruption?” M’eung questioned, before K’cheng could respond. “The Republic petitioner has been informed already when it shall be for her turn—”

“ _Thank you_ , Legate,” K’cheng interceded again. This time his eyes studied Leia _very_ closely—a depth and intensity Leia didn’t think she’d experienced since going before that entire Noghri convocate on Honoghr—until redirecting themselves at Harbid. “Captain, do you have any objecting to the Councilor’s proposal?”

She realized Harbid was studying her, too. “I have no objection,” he conceded, almost unwillingly. Perhaps recognizing he didn’t have a choice; not without violating all those polite Obroan social rules Threepio had talked about. It seemed Thrawn’s men weren’t quite as quick on their feet as the Admiral was.

“As petitioner for the Empire has no object, the bench will allowing for brief comments first,” K’cheng announced. Now he indicated to his right. “Please continue, Councilor.”

Leia shuffled herself slowly to the center of the platform, taking a final breath. _This is it_. “First, I wish to apologize to all of you for my tardiness today. I know the importance your society places on rules and decorum, and I promise I would not have delayed if it could have been avoided. Last night I received in my suite a visitor who revealed several things to me—things that I have spent the past twelve hours considering. Some of these I will share with this Assembly in a moment, and it is my hope you will agree that my delay was for good reason.

“Yesterday I spoke about the virtues and accomplishments of the Republic, and was told by many of you that these virtues were nothing more than dreams and half-truths. Yet it appears it is this very conference that has proceeded under a half-truth.” She gestured at Threepio. “My protocol droid informs me that the Obroans value fairness and transparency above all things. You can imagine my disappointment, then, when I learned last night that these talks have been anything but transparent.” She looked over at the man watching beside her in the central pit. “Isn’t that right, Captain Harbid?”

Harbid seemed surprised at being addressed. “I beg your pardon?” he blinked.

“Yes, Councilor,” K’cheng added carefully, with as much warning as those _polite social rules_ would permit. “For what purpose do you referring to the Captain?”

“For the purpose of unveiling a deception which has been perpetrated against both myself and this entire Assembly. I was told that for our cause today we would receive a fair hearing by the Legates, that we would be guaranteed your impartiality. So you will understand how shocked I was when I discovered that there is, in fact, an Imperial agent planted among you.”

A low-level hum began circling around her, a not-quite audible restlessness that filled the chamber rotunda. Out of the corner of one eye, Leia saw Harbid stiffen. “And who is that being?” one of the legates demanded.

Leia pointed a finger. “Legate M’eung.”

That low-level buzz suddenly graduated into full-blown outcry, an all-out eruption among the legates like she had set off a bomb underneath them. “That is outrageous claim!” Leia heard one of them shout, practically leaping out of his seat. “Republic Councilor is suffering from some madness, surely!” another bellowed, jabbing his own finger in her direction. 

“Or-der!” K’cheng barked over them all, abandoning that sheen of Obroan civility as he started slamming a gavel against his lectern. “Legates will demonstrate respect and have order!”

Slowly the Assembly died back down, the legislators returning reluctantly to their benches. K’cheng waited until they had all reseated before proceeding. “These indeed are for strong claiming, Councilor Solo,” he advised her, in a voice that sounded almost pleading. “You are visitor here, but even so ignorance cannot excuse it. Such accusations are considered most unorthodox.”

“Perhaps it would be best if we let Legate M’eung speak to their orthodoxy,” Leia suggested. She raised an eyebrow. “Well, Legate? How do you respond?”

Slowly every head in that chamber turned in M’eung’s direction. The man had barely moved in the past couple minutes—Leia had been watching him; hardly so much as a flicker in his cheek, since she had lifted her finger at his box—but behind that emotionless veneer she could sense a great turmoil rolling off him, a whirlpool of fear and confusion that churned through his emotions like waves. “I do not know if this is how things are proceeding amongst your Inner Council,” he bit out, finally. “Possibly you have invested too much time with that Councilor Fey’lya, hm? But here in the Obroan Assembly we do not entertain wild statements lightly. I should hope that there is proof you have brought with for supporting them!”

“There is,” Leia confirmed. “It occurred to me that if someone here _was_ on Thrawn’s payroll, the easiest way to prove it would be to see if we could show you the money trail—it’s how our own security has tracked Imperial moles for years. But that just begged the question on the best way to hide such trails in the first place. As it happens, Legate, I have _you_ to thank for helping me put the final piece together.”

“Myself?”

“In your questioning yesterday you brought up the fake transfer that Imperial Intelligence planted in Admiral Ackbar’s bank account a few months ago. The entire incident reminded me that any potential payoff couldn’t be made electronically: it would be too easy for an auditor to spot during routine checks. No, the best way for someone to ensure payments of this kind would be with _credits._ ”

There was the scrapping of a chair behind her. At their assigned cue Chewbacca and Wedge had both stood up from their seats on either flank; and together started purposefully across the platform, toward the main aisle that connected with the legates’ boxes. “What is meaning for this?” M’eung growled, staring at them through round eyes. “For why is it they are doing?”

“Looking for my proof,” Leia told him. “Wedge?”

“Yes, Councilor,” Wedge said, as he reached the top of the second tier and turned towards M’eung’s bench. “Excuse me, Legate, but would you mind emptying your pockets?”

For a couple seconds it seemed like M’eung hadn’t understood him. Then Leia saw it: the very moment when that sharp little brain put it all together, and those confused round eyes gave way to panicked disbelief. “Go ahead,” Wedge instructed, before M’eung could protest; and with typical Wookiee strength Chewbacca came up behind the legate, picked him up easily in one arm, and started rifling through his robes with the other.

“Really, Councilor Solo!” K’cheng exclaimed. “This is _highly_ unorthodox!”

“You must stop this, Premier!” M’eung was squealing, as he dangled in Chewbacca’s arms. “They have no right for doing!”

After only a minute Chewbacca set him back down. “Forgive me, Premier,” Leia said. “My droid has also warned me about the importance of dignity among your people. But this action was necessary. Chewie?”

With great effect, Chewbacca began setting out what he had found on the bench in front of them. There was a standard-issue comlink, of course, along with a couple of spare data cards and the legate’s security code cylinder beside it. And next to the cylinder…

“What are these?” the legate sitting behind M’eung asked.

Everyone leaned in for a closer look. Next to the data cards lay a collection of small, gold-colored triangles, with various denominations from “100” up to “5000” printed along the corners. One didn’t need to be a professional sabacc player to recognize a credit chit when he saw one. “They are my proof,” Leia announced, feeling a final relief wash over her. Their gambit had paid off; and the Force, indeed, had stayed with them. “They are Imperial credits. Issued only by Imperial-held banks, and valid only on Imperial-held worlds.”

Her first revelation had precipitated an outburst among the Legates, until only the pounding from K’cheng’s gavel had brought them to order. Now there was simply a stunned silence, like a great weight pressing down upon the entire room; so that the gavel sat limp in the Premier’s hands. Leia took advantage of the lull for a quick glance over at Harbid—but the captain was sitting quietly in his chair, his face flat and unreadable. “M’eung?” someone at last spoke up. It was the legate on M’eung’s left: the very same who had been siding with him just yesterday. “Are these words true? M’eung!”

M’eung didn’t seem to hear the man, just stood staring down at the chips in front of him. “Captain Harbid?” Leia tried. “This is Imperial-issued scrip, is it not?”

That placid calm in Harbid’s face flickered for just a second. “Yes,” he confirmed, as if the words were being yanked reluctantly out of him. “That is indeed Imperial scrip.”

“But how does the Legate M’eung come by such?” another voice called out. “Surely he can be providing some valid explanation!”

“I can explain it, even if the Legate cannot.” Leia redirected herself towards the entire Assembly. “The only reason someone would be paid in Imperial credits is for work done on behalf of an Imperial employer—say, for instance, Grand Admiral Thrawn. Or his proxy,” she added, with another glance at Harbid. “I’m sure a quick inspection of Legate M’eung’s office and residence will uncover even more where these came from.”

“There is some falsehood here, surely,” the voice persisted desperately. “M’eung, you must answer!”

“I cannot,” he shook his head.

For a long time no one said anything more. “These indeed making strong claims,” K’cheng declared at last, from his station at the top of his box. His own eyes drifted across the chits still splayed out along M’eung’s bench. “We must further investigate for discovering truth of them, as Councilor Solo is suggesting. Warden?”

Leia blinked as another of those livery-clad guards emerged suddenly at his side. Perhaps their purpose wasn’t as purely ceremonial as she’d assumed. “Your command, Premier?”

“Warden, kindly removing Legate M’eung into custody for time being,” K’cheng instructed. “In meanwhile your men shall be arranging for examination of his offices and residence.”

“Yes, Premier.” Another blink, and the warden had moved past Wedge to a position outside M’eung’s box. “Legate?” he said, taking the man politely but firmly by the arm. “Would you be coming along, please?”

Leia thought M’eung might resist, just for a moment—some last-ditch rant from the lectern, a final effort to salvage his situation. But as Threepio had advised her, Obroan society placed too much emphasis on decorum for one of their own to resort to such childish antics. Without protest he surrounded over to the warden and permitted himself to be led back up the stairs, with the rest of the Legates craning their necks to watch. “Thank you for these your comments, Councilor Solo,” K’cheng continued, over the silence. “Certainly this Assembly shall be taking them under consideration.” For the first time he offered Leia a truly open smile. “After revelation of morning events, I believe it best that the Legates are postponing remainder of agenda until investigation can be pursued. Are there any objections?”

No response. “Very well,” K’cheng said, giving his gavel one last tap. “Then this Assembly is being dismissed.”

* * *

“Leia!” Mon Mothma greeted, her holo coming into focus over the suite’s comm station. Maybe it was just another side effect of that famously poor image quality, but to Leia’s mind the woman looked somehow less careworn than usual. “My apologies for keeping you waiting—I just got off the line with Premier K’cheng. I understand congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you,” Leia answered mechanically, trying to suppress a frown. There were, she supposed, several things K’cheng could have mentioned to Mon Mothma, some more deserving than others. “Should I ask what specifically I’m being congratulated for?”

On Mon Mothma’s own lips a small smile appeared. “Of course, you wouldn’t have heard the news yourself yet. He says that the Obroan Assembly has officially decided to accept our petition to join the New Republic. We are still working out the details, but K’cheng assures me the Council can expect a formal response in the next week.” That smile got a little larger. “Apparently he’s never seen the Legates move that quickly on a proposal before. I don’t know what you did out there; but whatever it was, it worked.”

Then K’cheng had managed to convince the remaining Assembly members, after all. For some reason, Leia didn’t feel reassured quite yet. “It wasn’t just me,” she told Mon Mothma. “I had some help.”

“Certainly,” Mon Mothma nodded. “And I shall be sure to put in a good recommendation for Commander Antilles with Admiral Drayson and the rest of the High Command. But you deserve some of the credit, too.”

“I’m sure Wedge will appreciate that,” Leia said; but he wasn’t quite whom she’d had in mind. She had yet to inform Mon Mothma or anyone else on the Council about the situation with the Noghri—as long as that Delta Source leak remained viable, the chance of even a whisper getting back to Grand Admiral Thrawn could spell doom for the future of Honoghr. Certainly she didn’t intend to risk starting over a holo channel. “I’ll just be glad to get home,” she went on. “How soon until Chewie and I can leave for Coruscant?”

“I think it would be best if you hung around two or three extra days, in case Premier K’cheng wishes to hammer out any details in person. Don’t worry,” that small smile faded. “There will be plenty of work waiting for you here when you get back.”

And Han, too. For the first time in half-a-week, Leia realized how much she’d missed him. “I’ll plan to reach out to you in a day or two, then,” she said. “Thank you again, Mon Mothma.”

“No, Leia,” Mon Mothma insisted. “Thank _you_. Premier K’cheng explained to me what transpired in the Assembly today. Without your efforts, there is a good chance the Obroans would still be under the Empire’s deception. Once more the Republic finds itself in your debt.”

 _Debt._ For a second time her thoughts drifted to Ekhrikor, and what might have resulted if he hadn’tshown up in time with his little tip. _But he had_ , she reminded herself, firmly, _and there’s no point worrying otherwise right now._ “Not just mine, Mon Mothma,” she repeated, wondering dimly where the Noghri had gotten off to, anyway. “The Republic is in all our debts.”

* * *

Harbid fidgeted nervously before the suite’s hologram pod, knowing well better than to be the one to speak first. Fortunately, he didn’t have a long wait. “So,” the flickering image of Grand Admiral Thrawn declared, once the encryption sequence confirmed the line was secure. “The mission was unsuccessful, then.”

“Yes, sir,” Harbid swallowed, working hard not to think on all the stories he’d heard as a junior officer about Darth Vader and how _he_ had dealt with similar reports from underlings. Harbid had worked for Thrawn long enough to know the Grand Admiral didn’t particularly subscribe to such harsh methodologies. At least, not usually. “I’m sorry, Admiral.”

“There is no need for apologies,” Thrawn said, but in the holo Harbid noticed his expression harden. “This failure is not yours, Captain. It was careless of Legate M’eung to keep any evidence on his person that might potentially link him with us—careless to the point of stupidity. And he will suffer the full consequences of Obroan law for that misjudgment. I only wish the standard punishments were more severe.”

“Yes, sir,” Harbid said again, feeling some of the blood coming back to his face. He forced his mind to the business at hand. “If may ask, what is our next move?”

For a moment Thrawn’s glowing red eyes got distant. “I suppose we have no choice,” he sighed at last. “It seems we must resort to alternative forms of persuasion with the Obroan government.”

“Then we have the order?” Harbid pressed.

“The order is given,” Thrawn confirmed. And yet, to Harbid’s ears he sounded almost…sad about it? “Prepare the ship; commence the attack.”

“It will be done,” Harbid promised, hoping he didn’t come off too eager. The Grand Admiral may have a professed preference for finesse over force, but not Harbid. “Is this to be a full demonstration of Imperial firepower, or do you want their defenses kept intact?”

“I leave that to your discretion, Captain. Obroan weaponry is hardly top of the line, and I don’t anticipate they will give you much trouble. It may be best to limit your bombardment as much as possible. As a gesture of good faith to our future vassals.”

A pity, that. “And what about Organa Solo and her party?”

“Ah, yes. The esteemed Councilor.” Thrawn stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I entrust that decision in your hands as well. A New Republic official would make an added bonus without doubt, especially someone of Leia Organa Solo’s reputation.” Harbid could hardly disagree with that; there were even rumors running through the fleet that Thrawn had gone so far as to promise the woman to that crazy Jedi of his, C’baoth. “But remember that the data records in the Central Libraries are our primary objective here. I won’t have that compromised over a distraction, even one as tempting as her. Is that clear?”

It was clear enough to Harbid. “Understood, Admiral. I’ll see to it at once. Two hours from now, Obroa-skai will be completely under Imperial jurisdiction.”

“Then I shall look forward to two hours from now,” Thrawn said dryly. “ _Chimaera_ out.”

There was the slight hiss of static, and then the image sputtered and vanished. “This is the captain,” Harbid said into the intercom, switching it on. “Instruct the landing field to have my shuttle readied. And inform the _Death’s Head_ to prepare for our arrival. We’re leaving.”

There was a muffled acknowledgement on the other end, and then the intercom clicked off. _Yes_ , Harbid reflected, looking past his suite’s bay window at the quiet Obroan cityscape blinking outside. The cityscape, and the boxcar shape of the Central Libraries Building peeking its head in the far distance. It was clear enough, all right. If the Grand Admiral really wanted the Obroan archives so badly, Harbid would see to it that he got the Obroan archives.

And if along the way there happened to be an opportunity for a little payback at Organa Solo, after that humiliating stunt of hers this morning…well, he wouldn’t scoff at that, either.


	11. A Diplomatic Mission, Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leia and Chewbacca rush to escape Obroa-skai before Thrawn can complete his invasion. Part 5 of 5.

_The ready room door slid shut behind the wing commander, and Pellaeon gazed back at the map still on display. “Sounds like Obroa-skai is a dead end,” he said regretfully. “There’s no way we’ll be able to spare the manpower that much pacification would cost.”_

_“For now, perhaps,” Thrawn agreed. “But only for now.” —HEIR TO THE EMPIRE_

* * *

Leia awoke with a start, and immediately wondered why she had. The bedroom lay dark and still about her, the building quiet—the Palace engineers had paned the windows in some form of transparisteel, so that hardly more than a muted muffling could be heard whispering in from the outside. Not that there was much _to_ hear, at this hour: it was well past midnight, and other than the scattered blinks from a few passing airspeeders the cityscape was as dark and quiet as the rest of Royal Palace. Turning over Leia could see that the light from the main living area was no longer visible beneath the door; Chewbacca and Threepio must have gone to bed shortly after she had. At best guess she was the only one awake.

“Lady Vader,” a voice meowed softly out of the darkness.

With another start Leia sprang up in her bed, one hand reaching reflexively under her pillow for the blaster she kept hidden there. “Ekhrikor!” she breathed, spotting the darker shadow prowling at the bed’s foot. Yes, it was him, all right: he had his cowl pushed back, and that trademark Noghri jaw seemed even more nightmarish in the gloom from the city lights. “How did you get in here?” Leia demanded.

“I ask forgiveness, my lady,” Ekhrikor begged, with a bow even deeper than the one yesterday. “Well do I suspect what offense this intrusion must cause you. Yet we would risk ten times the offense, when such is done in duty for your safety.”

Leia bit back a smile, her mind alternating between anger and relief. “It’s all right,” she assured him gently. Ever since that first awkward encounter with Khabarakh, she’d quickly learned that the Noghri tended towards a flair for the overdramatic. “But you shouldn’t worry yourself anymore. I’ve taken care of Legate M’eung, _and_ his cohort in the Obroan Assembly. Thanks to you—you, and the aid you were able to provide me.”

“Such aid is nothing, for the pride of serving the _Mal’ary’ush_ ,” Ekhrikor assured her in turn. “But you misunderstand. The danger of your circumstance has grown exponentially. You must come with me now. An airship awaits us.”

“What do you mean?” Leia frowned. She sat up a little straighter in the bed. “What ‘danger?’”

Ekhrikor pointed at the ceiling. “The Imperial ship in the sky above,” he explained. “The Grand Admiral has commanded its captain to begin an attack upon the planet. It will commence any minute now.”

“What?!” she blurted. _No._ It wasn’t possible; not now, when they were so close to succeeding… “With all due respect, Ekhrikor, you must be mistaken. Such an act would cause an outcry among half-a-dozen neutral systems. Even Thrawn wouldn’t risk something so brazen.”

“You do not know the Grand Admiral as we do. Already his ship is arming its weapons systems.”

For another heartbeat Leia wanted to argue; before slowly, begrudgingly, tossing aside the sheets and getting out of bed. By this point the Noghri deserved at least some of her trust. “If you’re right, then we have to warn the Obroans,” she decided, as she slipped into her robe…but even as she said it she knew how ineffective any such warning would prove to be. Leia could recall quite distinctly the low estimate Ackbar had provided of the Obroan ground/space defenses. They were a people of knowledge, not battle.

“And so we shall, if that is your wish,” Ekhrikor agreed reluctantly. “But first we must get you safely away from here.”

“Yes,” Leia nodded. Suddenly all those stories Luke had told her about that crazy Jedi C’baoth came back to her, and she remembered just how desperately Thrawn seemed to be to get hold of her. Her hands grazed involuntarily at the swell of her belly, before she consciously pushed the thought away. “You said you had a ship waiting?” she asked, scooping up her lightsaber off the nightstand.

“On the roof,” Ekhrikor confirmed. “We will first retrieve your Wookiee companion and droid machine, and then escort you to it. Come!”

The suite’s main living area was just as black and quiet as her bedroom had been. Just as empty, too—Ekhrikor had made several references to a _we_ , and Leia had assumed to find a couple more Noghri commandos out here waiting for them. Yet even factoring in the relative darkness and the Noghri’s well-known penchant for hiding in plain sight, Leia could tell the place was empty. Along the wall on the farther side the door to Chewbacca’s room was still shut; Ekhrikor must have come to wake her, first. Instructing the Noghri to wait, Leia started across to fetch him.

She’d made it halfway when the thunderclap hit.

“I’m all right!” Leia shouted, trying to brush aside the pair of Noghri hands that were holding her insistently, protectively down. Funny—she couldn’t even remember Ekhrikor grabbing her in the first place. The ringing in her ears had barely cleared before the second thunderclap followed, shaking the room so hard it made the furniture rattle. Her first, horrified thought was that a bomb had detonated somewhere below them in the Palace, set off by another of Thrawn’s Obroan agents. But as a third and then a fourth clap sounded across the city, she belatedly recognized them for what they were:

Turbolaser blasts.

Another thunderclap shook the room, feeling much closer this time. “Chewie!” Leia yelled.

Chewbacca was already there: a shaggy silhouette framed in the open door, with an alert if slightly disoriented look on his flat face. His eyes scanned the room, shifted down to Leia and the Noghri commando currently splayed on top of her… “It’s okay,” she assured him, taking Ekhrikor’s arm as he helped her back up. “The city’s under attack, Chewie. Thrawn has ordered Harbid to start dismantling the Obroan defenses and secure the planet. It’s an invasion.”

Chewbacca seemed to consider that, before giving Ekhrikor a pointed look. “Sorry,” she introduced him, “this is Ekhrikor. He’s the same one who sent us the warning about M’eung.”

Those big Wookiee eyes lingered for a few more seconds; until, finally, he urfed out a question. “Exactly,” Leia confirmed. “Now go grab your bowcaster and Threepio and meet us back here. Ekhrikor has an airspeeder on the roof that can take us to the _Falcon_.”

Chewbacca nodded, disappearing back into the second bedroom. “He’ll only need a minute,” she told Ekhrikor. He didn’t seem to hear her; as soon as Chewbacca had left the Noghri had pulled out a comlink from his robes, and was listening intently to someone on the other end. Out the window Leia noticed that the shadow of city shapes had begun lighting up with the flashing green of concentrated turbolaser fire—turbolasers, and the accompanying flames of burning buildings. “How long before the Imperials start launching drop ships?” she asked.

But Ekhrikor shook his head. “They have already begun.”

* * *

Wedge was in the middle of what was honestly a very nice dream when the first blast hit. Instinctively he rolled himself over, tumbling out of his cot and hitting the floor with enough _umph_ to see stars for a few seconds. It took a couple seconds more for those stars to clear, which was plenty of time for Wedge to remember where exactly he was: one of the closet-slash-makeshift bedrooms they’d arranged for Rogue Squadron, set up in the primary hangar off the Obroan landing field.

He had just long enough to wonder what exactly could have made a blast like that when the second one made contact, followed by half-a-dozen more. “Sounds like turbolaser fire,” he guessed; and dismissed it for the silly thought it was the moment did. Not even the Empire would be _that_ nuts.

“Attention!” an Obroan voice boomed over the hangar’s emergency speakers, accompanied by the familiar rhythm of alarm klaxons. “Attention for all ships! Obroa-skai is being under attack from Imperial instigators. Every pilot is to reporting to battle stations immediately!”

So much for the Empire not being nuts. “Terrific,” Wedge muttered, extricating himself from his blankets and starting to get suited up. It looked like the Rogues were going to have their chance to trade potshots with Harbid’s fighters, after all.

He’d managed one leg into the flight suit and was halfway done with the second before a new thought suddenly struck him. Clambering to his nightstand, he started searching frantically for the comlink he remembered leaving there.

But apparently Councilor Organa Solo was one step ahead of him. “Wedge?” a voice came from somewhere behind the cot, thin and tinny and barely audible over the hoots from the alarms. “Wedge, are you there?!”

“I’m here!” he shouted, finally locating the comlink and snatching it up. “I think we’ve got trouble. Sounds like the Imperials are attacking the planet?”

“They are,” the other confirmed. “My source tells me Harbid is launching an all-out assault. The first of the _Death’s Head_ drop ships should be landing any minute.”

Her _source?_ But whatever it was, it would have to wait. “Copy that,” Wedge said. “I’m scrambling the rest of the squadron now. Do you want us to try and pick you up?”

“Don’t worry about it—we’ve already secured a ride to the landing field. Just get your fighters in the air and provide the Obroans with whatever support you can. I’ll ring you when we’re airborne.” A slight pause. “And try to leave your comm on this time.”

“Got it,” Wedge signed off, slipping the comlink into one of the suit’s chest pockets. He’d just finished zipping the front when someone started pounding from the far side of the closet door. “Wedge?” a voice muffled. “Come on, Wedge, open up!”

Wedge slapped at the release. On the other end stood Hobbie, gawking in the doorway like a flight cadet on his first day. “ _There_ you are!” he let out, poking his head inside. “The whole squadron’s looking for you. What have you been doing in here, anyway?”

“What’s the rush?” Wedge grumbled dryly, squeezing past him into the corridor. He turned down the main passage that led into the primary fighter hangar. “How bad is it out there?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘bad,’” Hobbie reported, jogging after him. “The comm monitoring systems haven’t detected any outbound signals yet, so it doesn’t look like that Star Destroyer called for backup; but it did launch almost twenty drop ships so far.”

Wedge whistled. “Twenty? That’s an awful lot of manpower—especially for a place like Obroa-skai.”

“Agreed.” He had to throw out a hand for a second as another turbolaser blast shook the building. “I don’t think this is just another raid or hit-and-fade, Wedge. I think we’re looking at a full-blown invasion.”

Wedge nodded. He’d reached the same conclusion, too. “What about TIE fighters?”

“Janson’s checking on that. Gotta be a couple squadrons, at least.”

And the nearest Republic base was light-years away. “Then I guess we’ve got our work cut out for us,” Wedge said, thinking back to what he could remember of the quick briefing on Obroa-skai’s ground/space weaponry. If memory served, it wasn’t much. “Get everyone to their fighters and in the air. We’re in it now.”

“Already on it,” Hobbie promised him. He seemed to hesitate. “What about Councilor Organa Solo?”

They’d come at last to the corridor’s end. Now the walls opened up on either side, into the much larger box of the main hangar; and the twelve patient shapes of the X-wing fighters parked within. “For the time being she’s on her own,” Wedge said, grabbing his flight helmet off the equipment shelf and starting toward the nearest cockpit. He could already spot his R2 unit snuggled in its droid socket, and the high-pitched whine of powering repulsorlifts had begun to fill the room. “We’ll just have to hope she can manage without us.”

* * *

There were three more of Ekhrikor’s Noghri waiting for them in the main hallway, just as Leia had expected: two on watch at either end, with a third parked just outside the suite entranceway to provide backup. To the best of Leia’s knowledge the typical Noghri team counted somewhere between eight and eighteen commandos; which meant—factoring in the pilot presumably waiting for them on the roof—there were at least three more Noghri currently unaccounted for. Where were they? Probably running interference, she decided, elsewhere in the Palace.

As Leia and the others stepped into the hall one of the Noghri chittered something at Ekhrikor too fast for her to catch. “The way is confirmed, my lady,” Ekhrikor translated. “The lift we seek is at the end of this corridor. We must reach it quickly, if we are to get you and your companions to safety. You, protocol-droid,” he snapped, as Threepio shuffled out slowly behind them, “move yourself!”

“Hurry up, Threepio,” Leia chastised.

With one of his Noghri taking lead Ekhrikor began ushering them down the hall toward that lift he had mentioned, the remaining Noghri fanning themselves in a sort of bent diamond formation behind. The Palace about them remained eerily quiet—so quiet that Leia could hear the pant of Chewbacca’s breathing as he loped along beside her, and the sound of Threepio’s gears shuffling behind. Though they passed more than a dozen doors leading into additional suites, no one else emerged into the corridor; apparently the rest of the Palace residents had opted to hole up and wait this one out.

They’d made it almost halfway when the floor beneath them shuddered from another explosion. “Uh-oh,” Leia said. “That didn’t feel like a turbolaser blast.” Chewbacca growled his agreement.

“It was not,” Ekhrikor confirmed, listening again to his comlink. “It appears two of the Imperial drop ships have diverted their course and landed upon the Palace roof.”

“Just two? What about the others?”

“They continue on their original trajectory to the Central Libraries Building.” _The Archives,_ Leia realized, feeling slightly chagrined. It was obvious, in hindsight—the whole reason Thrawn had petitioned the Obroans in the first place was for a chance to examine their information catalogs. The good news was, that meant she and the others wouldn’t be Harbid’s primary target. _At least for now._

“I beg your pardon, Your Highness,” Threepio cut into her thoughts. He’d been quiet as a dunemouse, ever since getting snapped at—Threepio hated it when people yelled at him—but now he raised a tentative gold-plated arm. “But with those drop ships on their way, we don’t intend to still go to the rooftops. Do we?”

A good question, actually. “Ekhrikor?”

The Noghri shook his head. “I will instruct our pilot to meet us at one of the southern landing pads instead. This way, please.”

He turned them along a different corridor. Whoever was on the other end of that comlink of his was right: a quick scan with the Force revealed a cluster of distant presences lurking above them, just barely within range of Leia’s Jedi senses. Even as she got a read on them the presences began growing stronger—the troopers must have entered the building and started moving down to the lower levels. She did a quick headcount, tried her hand at some impromptu calculations. The average drop ship carried somewhere between thirty-five and forty troops, though an enterprising commander could cram in as many as fifty. Between the two ships, that came out to almost a hundred stormtroopers trickling down on top of them—

“Wait,” she blurted suddenly, grabbing at Chewbacca’s arm. “ _Stop._ ”

The Noghri around her faltered. “Lady Vader,” one of them hissed. “Forgive me, but we cannot delay…”

“I said _stop_ ,” she repeated, putting some of that Royal Alderaanian weight behind her voice. “Ekhrikor, how many drop ships did you say had landed on the roof?”

“Two, my lady,” Ekhrikor said, that dark face of his creasing into what Leia could only assume was the Noghri version of a frown. “Why is it that you ask this?”

“Because that doesn’t add up,” she explained, doing a second count of the minds above them. There was no mistake; she could sense no more than a couple dozen sifting around up there. Which meant… “Below,” Leia concluded. “One of the drop ships must have landed below us.”

Ekhrikor shared a glance with his commandos. “You are certain, my lady?”

“Positive,” she said, stretching her senses out even further. “In fact, I can confirm it. There’s another group of troopers, loitering around the stairway in the second floor lobby. They’re close,” she added.

One of the Noghri hissed. “What do you wish to do?” he asked Ekhrikor.

Ekhrikor considered for a minute, looking over his shoulder at the lift visible at the far end of the hall. “You say that these men are close, Lady Vader. Are you able to determine how much so?”

“Maybe two floors,” Leia said, concentrating. “No, make that one,” she corrected. She pointed. “They’re coming up the south stairwell there.”

“We’re trapped!” Threepio moaned pitifully.

Ekhrikor deliberated for another moment. “If we moved ourselves to one of the lifts intended for the service machines,” he declared, at last, “we may perhaps be able to slip past—”

“ _Sha’vah!_ ” one of the Noghri barked over him. Leia had sensed it, too: from that lift at the far end, a sudden flash of motion, the doors spilling open—and a squad of stormtroopers appeared stumbling out. It took them only a second to spot Chewbacca and the Noghri, standing there gawking in the middle of the corridor… “There they are!” one of the troopers shouted.

Leia felt a large Wookiee arm yank her back behind a column, just as the hallway erupted in a surge of weapons fire. And not only from the stormtroopers: the lead commander had barely stepped into the corridor before the Noghri had their own blasters out, appearing in their hands with that inexplicable quickness she had seen demonstrated so many times before. The four of them began laying down a vaguely-familiar pattern of suppression fire that Leia recognized from that second attack of Bpfassh, with Ekhrikor leading potshots while the other three blanketed the walls and floor. Occasionally their bolts were punctuated by the report of Chewbacca’s bowcaster, discharging from somewhere behind her.

“Any ideas?” Leia shouted up at him.

Chewbacca snarled a negative, moving around her to get a better grip on the bowcaster stock. They had to do something soon, she knew: the spot he’d chosen for them left a lot to be desired in terms of cover, and it was only a matter of time before that second group of stormtroopers came up behind them by the southern stairs. Leia peered over her shoulder, looking down the long white corridor and its unending line of door-after-door… “Come on, Chewie,” she decided, slapping the control panel to the one nearest them. Whether it was luck or the Force, the suite was unlocked; the door slid open. “Ekhrikor, in here!”

The Noghri glanced over at her for a second, a small frown appearing on that protruding jaw; and then, with a final shot fired off, he launched himself across the hallway and rolled inside. “The rest of you,” she added, “come on, get in!”

“ _Mir’es kha!_ ” Ekhrikor commanded.

One-by-one they followed after him, until all four Noghri stood huddling together in the entranceway. “You, too, Chewie,” she urged, tugging on his bandolier. “Let’s go!”

With one last Wookiee roar Chewbacca pulled up his bowcaster and ducked through. Another slap at the panel controls, and the door slammed back into place behind them. “Are we all in?” Leia breathed, doing a quick headcount before enabling the lock mechanism. “Where’s Threepio?”

“I am here, Your Highness!” Threepio said. There was a dark mark burned atop his shoulder, where one of the blaster shots had bounced off; but other than that he didn’t seem to be particularly damaged.

Panting noticeably behind him, however… “Ekhrikor!” Leia exclaimed, taking an involuntary step towards him. “You’re shot!”

“The injury is not fatal,” he assured her. With one hand he was gripping at a black stain visible along his side, but with the other he waved her off. “What are your next commands, my lady?”

“We get you to your ship _fast_.” She gave him one last, mending look before turning away to examine the rest of the entry. Once more the Force was on their side; this suite appeared to be unoccupied at the moment. “Raise your pilot on the comlink and tell him to meet us at Suite 512. Come on, we better move it,” she added, as a loud clanging started up on the other side of the door. “Here—into the bedroom, all of you.”

It took less them than a minute to file into the open bedroom and seal its door, too. “The air craft is on its way,” Ekhrikor reported, returning the comlink to his belt.

“Good,” Leia said. She’d made sure to enable the locking mechanism here, as well, and one of the Noghri had joined Chewbacca as he started piling furniture against the near wall. But surely they both knew that wouldn’t delay those troopers more than a couple extra seconds. “How far away is he?”

“Not far,” Ekhrikor assured her. But she could see from the furrow in his eyes that he’d reached the same conclusion she had. It was a race now between his pilot and the stormtroopers outside.

And it sounded like it was a race that the stormtroopers were winning. “They have breached the first door,” another Noghri observed, as a muffled crash echoed from somewhere in the main living area.

“Let us hope this second shall last us longer.” The one helping Chewbacca paused for a moment, searching about for another chest to stack. He noticed Leia standing beneath the bay window… “Lady Vader, it would be best if you found for yourself a place for cover.”

But Leia wasn’t listening. In the dark outside she’d suddenly noticed something: a pair of probing headlights, descending toward them from the night sky. “Ekhrikor—”

“I see them also,” Ekhrikor confirmed, limping to her side. “It is Ilkhaim. Our ship has come.”

The Noghri airspeeder materialized into full view out of the darkness, an old-fashioned six-seater that reminded Leia of the administrative skimmers the Imperial Senate had shuttled their staffs in around Coruscant. For the briefest moment she felt an unexpected trepidation, like a flicker of bad memory—but this was a far cry from that airspeeder encounter on Rwookrrorro, strapped to Chewbacca’s chest as the two of them scrambled to evade their Noghri pursuers beneath the city roots. This time, it was her way _out_ of danger.

The sound of renewed clanging brought Leia back to the matter at hand. “We need to find a way to remove this window,” she said, starting to search around the jambs. In the spirit of its old-fashioned style the original frames should have included some sort of latch or unlocking mechanism, to allow for fresh air and egress; unfortunately, it appeared the Obroans had renovated the suites with a kind of reinforced transparisteel that removed such utilities. Probably an intentional design decision—the Emperor had installed the same in his Imperial Palace, ostensibly to ensure better security for visiting guests—and a quick examination suggested the new windows were thick enough to hold up against fire from even heavy-arms blasters.

But then, the Palace architects likely hadn’t anticipated one of their residents would be carrying a lightsaber with her. Leia reached a hand down to the weapon still dangling from her belt—

“Please, my lady,” Ekhrikor gently pulled her away. “Our pilot will take care of the window for us. You must remove yourself to a safe distance.”

“Are you sure?” Leia said doubtfully. “These aren’t the originals, you know. I don’t think he’ll be able to shoot through something this strong without risking a ricochet—”

“Trust me, Ilkhaim is most precise. Now come.”

She let him lead her into the corner, where Chewbacca was already huddled behind the wardrobe. “ _Ilkhaim_ —,” Ekhrikor hissed into his comlink. “ _Stava_.”

A spurt of laser fire flashed from the cannon strapped to the airspeeder’s front; and then an explosion and a whoosh of air, as the transparisteel window vaporized into a million fragments. “Let us be gone,” Ekhrikor declared, getting up from behind the bed. He tossed something onto the floor with a metallic _thunk_. “Lady Vader, you shall go first.”

She scooted towards the brand-new opening and leaned her head out. Beneath them she could see beams from the city lights, flickering like campfires several stories below. It looked a surprisingly long way down. “Lady Vader!” the Noghri pilot was waving invitingly to her from the airspeeder’s open door. “Come!”

Leia tried measuring the distance between them, decided it was best not to think about it too much. She took a final breath, letting Force-enhanced strength flow into her legs and muscles; and with a running start sprang and jumped.

She made it easily, landing in the passenger cab and sliding into one of the middle seats. Ekhrikor was right behind her, followed by two more of his Noghri. A glance over her shoulder revealed a nervous gold figure framed by the broken window, looking rather lost as he hovered at the lip. “What about Threepio?” she realized.

“The Wookiee will see to your droid,” Ekhrikor said, even as Chewbacca came swooping in behind and scooped Threepio up in another of those strong hairy arms. Then they were both launching across the gap themselves, Chewbacca landing effortlessly in the airspeeder’s backseat and plopping the yelping droid into the spot beside Leia.

“That is all of us,” Ekhrikor informed his pilot, once the remaining Noghri had squeezed aboard. “Let us be gone.”

At that moment there came a sudden flare from the building interior, and the bedroom door exploded inward. “Look out!” Threepio exclaimed, jabbing a finger at the line of stormtroopers that came diving one-by-one through the smoke.

Ekhrikor pressed a button on his comlink; and another explosion lit up the room, the blasting disk he had dropped detonating in a burst so bright it sent the stormtrooper vanguard tumbling out the window. “Ilkhaim,” he tapped the pilot’s shoulder, as the falling white silhouettes became swallowed by the darkness below. “Now we go.”

* * *

Harbid stood at his usual place on the _Death’s Head_ bridge, staring down through one of the viewports at the green-white orb rotating below. Even from this high up he could make out a few dots of brilliant orange visible along the main continent on the planet’s nightside—spots where fires had broken out in the capital city, causalities from the ship’s unceasing bombardment. Not that Harbid cared particularly. “You have something to report?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” the comm officer said, stepping up from the starboard crew pit and offering his captain a quick salute. “I thought you’d want to know that we just received word from the drop ship leader. The Obroan Archives are secured. We have taken control of the Central Libraries Building.”

Finally. “Good,” Harbid said, letting out a breath he hadn’t quite realized he’d been holding in. That was one objective out of the way, at least. “Commendations are to be entered into the main commanders’ personnel files for their efficient work.” He hesitated for a moment. “Any news from Ships Seven and Eight?”

“Nothing to report yet,” the other informed him. It seemed to Harbid like he may have hesitated a little, himself. “They’re still searching the Royal Palace floor-by-floor. The last message indicated they may have located Organa Solo in a suite on Level Five, but we’re waiting on confirmation.” This time the man _definitely_ hesitated. “I can request another check-in, if you like.”

“That’s not necessary,” Harbid decided. If he knew these ground troop-types, the last thing they appreciated was having to provide constant updates to their Fleet captains in the middle of a field operation. “Just reiterate that they are free to use whatever methods deemed necessary on the rest of Organa Solo’s party, but the Councilor herself should be nonlethal force only. And that includes stun weapons.” The things were notorious for sparking miscarriages; and according to those crazy rumors Thrawn didn’t want just Organa Solo, but her two children as well.

“I’ll remind them,” the comm officer promised. “If you’ll excuse me, sir?” Harbid dismissed him with a nod, returning his attention to the scene outside. Above that green-white orb a small battle was raging, the flits and flickers of darting starfighters as the _Death’s Head_ ’s TIE complement engaged with the Obroan defense net. Not that the Obroan defense net was much to speak of. The starboard gunners had taken out the main planetary ion emplacements within their first ten salvos, followed quickly by a strafe of the landing field itself. Other than the handful of Obroan fighters that had already been in the air at the time, along with that X-wing squadron Organa Solo had brought with her, the _Death’s Head_ hadn’t encountered anything worth mentioning in the way of resistance.

_The X-wing squadron._ Harbid shifted his gaze towards the tiny silhouettes zipping above the troposphere, feeling a small flicker of irritation. Those X-wings had done nothing but cause his own fighters problems since the battle had begun, as it happened: first taking out the ship’s initial wave within the opening ten minutes, and currently putting a rather serious dent in its second. But according to Harbid’s board Squadron Three was scheduled to deploy next; and Three Squad was comprised entirely of the _Death’s Head_ ’s TIE interceptors. The X-wing was a resilient little starfighter, Harbid had to admit, and these particular pilots seemed unusually skilled—but surely even they couldn’t match the speed and firepower of an Imperial interceptor…

The sound of more bootsteps behind him cut into Harbid’s thoughts. “Yes?” he growled. “What is it, lieutenant? Did you pass on my instructions?”

“Yes, sir,” the comm officer confirmed. Did he sound nervous, all of a sudden? “The stormtrooper commander has been reminded to use nonlethal force only, as per your orders.”

“Good.” The man just stood there. “Well?” Harbid demanded. “What _is_ it, then?”

For the first time he noticed that the man was sweating a bit under the collar of his uniform. _Bloody conscripts_ , Harbid grumbled inwardly. He couldn’t count the days until Thrawn assigned the _Death’s Head_ some of those magical clones he’d promised them. “Go on,” he pressed.

“Ahem, yes, sir.” A quick swallow before continuing: “Captain, we’ve just received an update from the unit on Level Five.” Now the man was _really_ sweating under that collar. “It appears Organa Solo and her team have escaped.”

“What?!” Harbid barked out, a surge of anger squeezing in his chest. Impossible—she couldn’t have slipped through his fingers that easily. She _couldn’t._ “What do you mean, ‘escaped?’”

“Not without help,” the other assured him. “Our troops had her cornered in one of the unoccupied rooms on the Palace’s south side, when an unidentified airspeeder approached from above. Organa Solo was able to board the speeder before the stormtroopers could stop it.”

“Did anyone bother to determine which way it was goi—no, it doesn’t matter,” Harbid corrected himself. There was only one logical place the airspeeder would take her: that beat-up light freighter at the landing field.

“Unfortunately the commander wasn’t able to track the airspeeder’s outbound vector,” the lieutenant answered anyway. “But his report does include an additional item worth mentioning: a group of unknown aliens, spotted helping Organa Solo escape.”

Now _that_ piqued Harbid’s interest. Unknown aliens? And hadn’t Organa Solo had mentioned something this morning about a mysterious visitor in her suite? “Did the commander manage to get a recording of these aliens?” he asked. But the lieutenant shook his head.

_No matter_ , Harbid decided. They would find out soon enough. “Instruct Teams Seven and Eight to return to their drop ships,” he said. “We’ll simply have to take Organa Solo ourselves. Starfighter Control!”

“Yes, captain?” the man looked up from his station.

“Has Squadron Three been deployed yet?”

“We’re about to launch the interceptors now.” He paused. “Do you have any orders you want relayed to them, sir?”

Harbid smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do. Instruct the wing commander to concentrate his attack on the _Millennium Falcon_. She should be coming his way shortly. We’ll divert the _Death’s Head_ into orbital position to provide support.”

And as the officer passed on Harbid’s newest order, and the TIEs began launching from the hangar bay, Harbid felt that smile widen. Yes, they’d find out who these inexplicable aliens were, all right. Thrawn said he wanted Organa Solo brought in alive; but that didn’t mean Harbid couldn’t have the woman interrogated first.

* * *

The landing field was dark as Ekhrikor’s pilot set them down in an unoccupied spot only a few hundred meters from where she and Premier K’cheng had held that initial exchange three days ago. Dark, and seemingly abandoned—most of the Obroan air forces must have gone up with Wedge’s group during the initial alarm. “Here is your craft,” Ekhrikor said, as one of his commandos popped open the airspeeder door. “I fear we can do no more to assist you. This is where we must part, my lady.”

Leia looked past the speeder’s nose at the welcome shadow of the _Millennium_ _Falcon_ , waiting for them on its pad like an eager pet. “Chewie, go prep the ship for flight,” she instructed. “I want us in the air in five minutes. And take Threepio with you—he may need a hand getting out.”

“Really, Your Highness, I am quite capable…” Threepio started, just as that hairy arm wrapped itself once more around his torso and yanked him out. He barely had the time to turn it into a wail before Chewbacca dropped him—rather ungently—onto the ground outside; then the two of them were hurrying across the field towards the _Falcon_ ’s gangway, the Wookiee leading in a sprint while the poor droid scuttled after as fast as his joints would permit.

“Thank you for your help, Ekhrikor,” Leia said, once they were alone. “You have been a great aid to us—you and your team both. What will you do now?”

“We shall resume our original task,” he told her gravely. “To travel the galaxy in search of other Noghri commando teams, that we may warn them of the Empire’s treachery.”

“That task might be difficult,” Leia pointed out. “There were a lot of stormtroopers back there, and it’s a fair chance one of them could have recognized you. If word of your appearance here gets back to Grand Admiral Thrawn, you may have put yourselves at great risk. Maybe even the entire population of Honoghr.”

“I do not think so. For many years under the Empire’s rule the Noghri worked from the shadows, doing the Lord’s bidding and eliminating his enemies without once permitting ourselves to be identified. We have become most proficient in the ways of the covert arts, my lady.”

“None of those other enemies knew what a Noghri looked like, though,” Leia reminded him.

“You speak truly,” Ekhrikor allowed. “Yet even if it should be that we were discovered today, such is the price all Noghri willingly pay in order to protect you _._ We are forever in your debt, for revealing to us the betrayal inflicted upon our world. It is just as I swore before.”

“And I appreciate that. Still, I’d rather not have the blood of more of your people on my hands if I can help it. Why don’t you come with me and Chewie instead?”

Ekhrikor seemed to consider that for a moment. “To continue in the service of the Lady Vader would be a great honor,” he admitted, before shaking his head. “Yet we must continue in the mission assigned to us, and persist in our warning to other commandos. To fail in this task might expose even more warriors to the Empire’s wrath. Do not worry, Lady Vader; perhaps one day I shall be given the opportunity to aid you again.”

His voice began to drown out beneath the rising whine of ship repulsorlifts; and a quick glance up at the _Falcon_ ’s cockpit revealed the dark form of Chewbacca scuttering from panel to panel **.** “That is a day I will look forward to,” Leia said over the noise. “You and your team have done the dynasts proud, Ekhrikor clan Bahk’tor. May the Force be with you all.”

Five Noghri heads bowed. “Thank you, Lady Vader,” Ekrhikor said on their behalf. “It has been our pleasure to protect and serve the _Mal’ary’ush_. This is a night that shall be long celebrated among our _dukhas_.”

A flicker of headlights caused Leia to look up again. Through the ship’s canopy Chewbacca was gesturing impatiently, waving at her from the cockpit window. “Take care of yourselves,” she said, one last time; and then was hopping out the door herself. She’d barely touched ground before the airspeeder began lifting back into the sky, a vague shape quickly lost among the cloak of dark clouds overhead. “And good luck,” she added, watching as it finally turned and rocketed off in the direction of the mountains: then she too was turning, hurrying after Chewbacca and Threepio into the _Falcon_ gangway.

* * *

“Wedge?” the long-awaited voice crackled in his ear. “It’s Leia. We’ve made it to the ship and on our way up to meet you.”

“Finally,” Wedge muttered, clicking back a confirmation. “Copy that, _Falcon_ ,” he acknowledged, with a glance out his cockpit canopy. Yes, there they were: he could see the oval shape of the _Millennium Falcon_ now, rising like a strange sea creature from the darkness of the landing field. “You heard her, Rogue Squadron. Eleven and Twelve, move to the rear to provide Councilor Organa Solo with escort position. The rest of you, form up; it looks like we’re getting out of here.”

_And not a moment too soon,_ he added to himself. They’d managed that first wave of TIEs handily enough, though Wedge had been in enough battles to chock it up as much to luck as to his pilots’ skill. But this second one was already giving the Rogues a run for their money, and Wedge had no doubt that Harbid had a third and a fourth queued up, as well. If Rogue Squadron and the _Falcon_ didn’t jump into hyperspace within the next couple minutes, they could have a real scrap on their hands.

“Uh, Wedge,” Rogue Seven interjected suddenly, as if reading his thoughts. “I’m picking up a new group of signals departing the _Death’s Head_. Looks like more fighters.”

Wedge checked his own scope—and fought back an old Corellian curse. More fighters, all right, and not just the standard TIE variant: but an entire squadron of those more advanced interceptor models, emerging from the Star Destroyer’s belly and angling their direction. And if his computer’s projection was anything to go by, it would be on top of them in less than a minute. “They’re heading for the _Falcon_ ,” Wedge noted, studying his display more closely. “Councilor?”

“We see them,” came the quick response. “I don’t suppose running for it is an option?”

“We can try,” Wedge said doubtfully. The TIE interceptor was one of the fastest ships in the Imperial fleet, and at the rate it were climbing Wedge doubted the _Falcon_ would even clear the atmosphere before the Imperials reached them. On the other hand, they didn’t seem to have many alternatives at the moment. “All right, Rogues, this is it. Switch your deflectors on double-front and move into attack formation.”

He waited for the ring of acknowledgments before pushing his own throttle to full. A second peek at the scope revealed that while they’d been talking those interceptors had closed the gap considerably: no longer a cluster of mere blips, but twelve angry dots that stood out individually like a flock of buzzing birds. Already Wedge could spot them with his naked eye, their telltale bent-wing silhouettes outlined against the darker backdrop of space. Just a couple more seconds and they would be in range of his cannons. “Here we go—”

A blinding burst of green light suddenly flashed across the cockpit. “Incoming turbolaser fire!” he barked, throwing his stick hard right. He’d barely started into the dive when another of the _Death’s Head_ ’sturret shots flickered past, and for one terrifying moment Wedge felt his entire fighter shudder beneath him, like a bucking bull on Shaum Hii…then he was out and through. “R2!” he called back. “Damage report!”

A list of system readouts started running along his screen, more than a few highlighted in dark red—but Wedge knew how lucky he’d just gotten. Most fighters would be space dust after a full-on hit like that from a Star Destroyer; the double deflectors must have absorbed the bulk of the blast. “Rogue Squadron, check. Everyone okay?”

“We’re all fine, Wedge,” Rogue Nine assured him. “But it looks like we lost our targets.”

Wedge gritted his teeth. Nine was right: distracted by the _Death’s Head_ ’ssudden attack, the Rogues had been forced to abandon their formation screen—and inadvertently provided those interceptors with the exact window they needed to skip past. Which meant… “Rogue Leader to _Falcon_ —”

“We see them.” On his rear scope the display abruptly lit up, the skies above Obroa-skai sparkling with renewed laser fire as the TIE interceptors finally came within range of the _Millennium Falcon_. The ungainly-looking ship twisted into a downward spin, Chewbacca throwing them into a spiral loop in a vain attempt to lose their pursuers. From what Wedge could tell, it didn’t even slow the interceptors down. “We could use some help here!”

Even as she said it the leading shots from the front interceptor at last connected with their target, a raking of sparks that spattered across the _Falcon_ ’s upper hull. Wedge watched helplessly as Chewbacca tried another spiral loop, this time a counter-clockwise corkscrew that brought them mostly unscathed through the far side. On his board Wedge could already see the other interceptors closing in, jostling for an angle on the sublight engines… “Let’s go, Rogues,” he ordered, swinging his X-wing back around. By now they were too outpaced for the cannons, but maybe: “Switch your firing to proton torpedoes. Lock on targets and launch at my command—”

“Hold on, Rogue Leader,” someone cut in over the squadron channel. “Don’t worry, we’ve got this!”

There was a sudden sputter of laser fire, flares of flashing red that cut across his canopy; then the lead interceptor was swallowed by a fiery explosion, a blinding ball that seemed to fill the entire cockpit view. It was followed a moment later by a pair of X-wing escorts swooping past. “All clear, Wedge,” Rogue Eleven announced. “This one’s out of the fight.”

“Nice shooting, Eleven!” Nine exclaimed.

“We’ll consider it a do-over for that slipup with the Skiprays,” Wedge said. He returned his attention to the _Falcon_. “Councilor—are you okay? _Falcon_ , do you copy??”

“We’re fine!” the other’s reply came over the comm. “The shields took a bit of a beating there, but I think we’re all right.”

Wedge let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. _All right_ didn’t begin to cover it; he’d seen shots at that range poke entire holes through hull plating before. It looked like the famous Solo luck ran in the family. “Copy that,” he clicked, banking his X-wing into position beside Eleven and Twelve. “The rest of us are coming in to cover you. Move to exit vector one-six-eight…”

“One second,” Leia interrupted, a sudden tautness in her voice. “Wedge, we’ve got a new problem over here. Chewie says that blast scrapped our hyperdrive motivator. We can’t make the jump to lightspeed.”

So they hadn’t gotten lucky, after all—that interceptor hadn’t been aiming to destroy the _Falcon_ , he’d been aiming to _disable_ it. This time Wedge didn’t even try biting back that Corellian curse of his. “What do you want to do?” Rogue Three asked softly.

Wedge glanced out his canopy at the beleaguered planet rotating below. “We’ll have to head back to Obroa-skai,” he decided. Without a functioning hyperdrive, the _Falcon_ wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while. “Find someplace to hole up, see if we can get that motivator repaired.”

“No,” Leia corrected him. “ _We’ll_ head back to Obroa-skai. _You_ and the rest of your squadron will get yourselves out of here.”

Wedge bit his lip. “Sorry, Councilor, but that’s not the way it works. We have orders to escort you safely to and from Obroa-skai, and that’s what I intend to do.”

“Your orders are to follow _my_ orders, Commander Antilles,” she argued back, a bit snappishly. “I’m hereby officially instructing you to withdraw.”

“And you can submit your insubordination complaint directly to Admiral Ackbar, once we’re all safely on Coruscant,” Wedge held his ground stubbornly. “I’m already having my R2 unit scan those mountains for a viable landing site. It should be able to turn up a culvert or something, a place we can hide until—”

He was interrupted by a flicker of pseudomotion above the planet; and suddenly a new shape emerged out of lightspeed, directly behind the _Death’s Head_ —the clam-nosed shadow of a Rendili Dreadnaught. “What in space?” Rogue Seven blurted. “Wedge, looks like we’ve got another ship inbound…”

“Attention, Obroan forces,” a voice announced, over the comm channel. “This is General Bel Iblis aboard the Republic warship _Peregrine_. Do you require assistance?”

* * *

For a long moment Leia stared at the comm, her emotions an oscillating mixture between surprise and relief. What was _Garm_ doing here? She leaned forward in her seat to get a better view of the approaching Dreadnaught, drifting in above the canopy just a couple kilometers behind that Star Destroyer. It was definitely the _Peregrine_ —Leia didn’t think she’d ever forget the ship’s profile, after its fortuitous arrival during the climax of the _Katana_ battle. In fact this whole thing felt like an eerie repeat of that similarly lucky appearance a couple weeks ago. “General!” she finally breathed into the comm mic. “It’s Leia. I can’t begin to tell you how glad I am to see you!”

“Likewise, Leia,” Bel Iblis greeted back, his tone noticeably reserved. Possibly something to do with the battle raging in front of him at the moment. “Judging by that Star Destroyer out there, it looks like you could use the support. What’s going on, exactly?”

“The Empire is attacking the planet,” Leia explained, probably unnecessarily. “Chewie and I don’t have much in the way of intel, but from what I can gather they’ve already taken out most of the Obroans’ ground-to-space weapon systems. Several key facilities in the capital have fallen, as well.”

“Our sensor reports indicate the same. I thought you said this was supposed to be a diplomatic negotiation?”

“It _was_ ,” Leia nodded grimly. “Things took a bit of a bad turn. We’ll just be glad for your help—a Republic general should go a long way toward making those Imperials think twice about all this.” Harbid apparently was of a similar mind; already he had his helm turning the _Death’s Head_ ’s arrowhead to bear on this new threat. “Incidentally, how did you end up out here? I didn’t think the Obroans managed to get a distress call through the ship’s jamming.”

“You asked me to come,” he reminded her; and over the comm she could hear if not quite imagine the frown that would have popped up on his face. “That ‘personal appearance’ you said would go a long way towards convincing the Obroans to join the Republic. Don’t you remember?”

That’s right—she _had_ asked him to come, hadn’t she? It seemed Mon Mothma hadn’t bothered to inform him of her little success this morning. Leia supposed it was just as well. “I’m glad you’re here now, anyway,” she told Bel Iblis. “With the exception of Rogue Squadron, it looks like most of the Obroan defense ships have been either disabled or destroyed. Think you can lend us a hand?”

There was a pause at the other end. “I came alone, Leia. The rest of my task force is still on assignment in the Elom system.”

Leia felt that brief relief retreating back into despair. In her excitement she’d missed the obvious: that the only ship appearing out there was indeed the lone silhouette of the _Peregrine_ flagship. And there wasn’t a whole lot a single Dreadnaught could do against the coordinated firepower of an Imperial Star Destroyer, even one under the command of the legendary Bel Iblis. “Understood. In that case—”

“Senator!” a new voice interrupted her, chiming in suddenly over the civilian comm channel. “Welcome! Happy indeed is it seeing you arrived at Obroa-skai!”

Premier K’cheng. Leia had almost forgotten about him. “Thank you,” Bel Iblis said. “May I assume I am speaking with the planetary Premier?”

“Your assumption is correct, Senator Bel Iblis.” The man seemed strangely calm for someone whose planet was under Imperial bombardment. “I am for most honored to be greeting with you. And not a moment too soon, I think! As you are observing, we have been brought presently under attack from a Star Destroyer.”

“Yes, I can see that. Have you begun your evacuations yet?”

An odd sputtering echoed over the comm, like a confused gurgle in the back of someone’s throat. “Evacuations?” K’cheng repeated. He made it sound it as if it were a word he was encountering for the first time. “I should not think so. For what would we have the need of evacuations, Senator?”

“Premier, this is Councilor Organa Solo,” Leia interjected. “The General is right. You have to board one of the emergency ships immediately.”

“Ah, Councilor Solo!” K’cheng exclaimed. “I am relieved to hear your voice as well! It was reporting that some attack had been commenced upon the Palace. When we received no update…”

“Don’t worry about that, Premier,” Leia cut him off, gently but quickly. “What we need to focus on right now is getting you and your staff to the landing field, before Harbid’s men have the opportunity to capture you, too.”

“Such a journey would be impossible, I am afraid. Imperial soldiers already have made it cordoned.”

Leia swallowed back a curse of her own. If K’cheng couldn’t escape to the landing field…and if Harbid’s men had already seized most of the main government buildings… “Then send us your current location,” she instructed, coming to a decision. Chewbacca wasn’t going to like this. “We’ll come for you in the _Falcon_.”

Chewbacca didn’t like it, all right, and he was very vocal about it. “We don’t have any choice, Chewie,” she protested. They were only a few kilometers out of the atmosphere at this point, and a roundtrip down and off again shouldn’t take more than about twenty minutes. “The Republic can’t just abandon the Obroan Premier like this. We have to go back.”

Chewie growled back the obvious: it wouldn’t do the Republic much good if _they_ were captured, too. Leia started to respond— “Concerns from both you and your Wookiee pilot are appreciating, Councilor,” K’cheng started. “But surely also they are unneeded. Now that Senator Bel Iblis has arrived, Imperial instigators will be withdrawing, yes? There will be no requirement for rescue.”

“Unfortunately it’s not that simply, Premier,” Bel Iblis said. “My flagship doesn’t have nearly the weaponry or firepower necessary to take on a Star Destroyer without assistance. In my opinion your best bet is to heed Leia’s advice and get yourself to a rooftop where she can pick you up.”

There was a long silence on the other end. “I see,” K’cheng said; and his voice filled up with a fresh determination Leia couldn’t recall hearing before. “If that is case, then I thank you also: but I must be for declining. Instead I shall stay.”

“Premier…” Leia protested.

“My thanks for your efforts, Councilor Solo,” K’cheng interrupted her again. “For everything, hmm? But it must be for me to remaining _here._ With my people, yes, and accept with them whatever is coming next.”

Leia took a breath. “I understand,” she said. “I promise your sacrifice won’t be in vain. As soon as I return to Coruscant I’ll assemble the Council and instruct the High Command to dispatch a task force to assist you.”

“I am confident that you will do for your best,” K’cheng allowed, the doubt audible even in that newly-determined tone. And Leia herself had to privately wonder: how willing would Ackbar and Drayson be to divert a sufficient number of ships to liberate Obroa-skai? “It was a pleasure to meeting with you. Farewel—” His voice suddenly cut off in a squeal of electronic static.

“Premier!” Leia yelled into the comm.

“He’s all right, Leia,” Bel Iblis said. “It’s just the Imperials jamming the civilian frequency. See?”

Leia leaned out the canopy again, this time down at the clouds of Obroa-skai circling beneath them. They were still low enough that she could spot the capital city, a dark mass of light and tower barely visible in the middle of the main continent. All around its edges flickered bright orange dots, brushfires that burned fuming with black smoke; but with the exception of the Royal Palace and the Central Libraries Building most of the dots appeared to be ringing along the city outskirts. Garm was probably right—it looked like the Imperials had focused their bombardment on the city defenses, in order to spare the major population centers. _And either way_ , Leia reminded herself, _there’s nothing you can do for the Premier now._ K’cheng had picked his own path; no one else could choose it for him.

An insistent finger tapping on the sensor screen brought Leia back to more urgent matters. “Garm, Chewie says that TIE squadron is regrouping for another pass,” she told him, straightening in her seat. “Unless there’s anything more you think you can do here, we’d better get going.”

“I agree,” Bel Iblis said. His voice sounded almost as grim as she felt. “We’ll hold off this side long enough for you and your team to make the jump to lightspeed, and then follow right behind.”

From the pilot’s chair, Chewbacca growled a reminder. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that?” Bel Iblis queried.

“Unfortunately, we can’t make the jump to lightspeed at the moment,” Leia translated. “Our hyperdrive motivator was damaged in the fighting. I don’t suppose you can give us a ride?”

“Under the circumstances, I’d say it’s the least we can do.” He cleared his throat. “Head for the portside dock. We’ll make you a path.”

The sky was lit anew as the _Peregrine_ opened up with its front ion cannons, flashes of turret fire that led along the _Falcon_ ’s current vector. “There’s our exit,” Leia pointed, grabbing at her console as Chewbacca pivoted them hard toward the Dreadnaught and the rectangular hangar that was framed in its midsection. “Wedge, did you get all that?”

“Clear through, _Falcon_ ,” Wedge confirmed, his X-wing drifting off their starboard. “I’ll just be glad to finally head out of here. Rogue Squadron: let’s lend the General a hand.”

The X-wings suddenly swooped away, a swarm of angry insects throwing themselves into the nearest batch of TIE fighters. Leia took a final look at the ship’s sensor display. The dots depicting the TIEs started scattering, harried into evasive maneuvers by the Rogues’ onslaught; further out, the massive outline that was the _Death’s Head_ continued to trade ion and turbolaser fire with the much smaller shape of the _Perergine_ ; while below it all the twirling green-white circle of Obroa-skai—a mash of clouds and continents, filling half the scope’s view—at last began to slowly shrink behind them. How generous, Leia wondered, would Grand Admiral Thrawn and his lackey captain be with their new Obroan subjects? If her experience with the Empire was any indication, not very.

In what seemed like no time at all Chewbacca had them within the safety of the _Peregrine_ ’s defenses, twisting the _Falcon_ past the front cannons and then skimming atop the midline hull. The blinking lights and bright rectangle of the portside hangar were already beckoning at them welcomingly; on the _Peregrine_ ’s other side, Leia spotted the first flickers of pseudomotion as Wedge’s X-wings started entering hyperspace. “Come on, Chewie,” she said, leaning back and closing her eyes. Like she’d reminded herself before, there was nothing more they could do for Obroa-skai now. “Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you’d like to learn more about my writing, including another Star Wars story featuring Obi-wan and Anakin and a science fiction retelling of The Hobbit, follow me on Twitter [@NobNesbit](https://twitter.com/nobnesbit) or check out my website: [http://nobnesbit.com.](http://nobnesbit.com)


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